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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



LIFE IN A TANK 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/lifeintankOOhaig 




A TANK ON ITS WAY INTO ACTION 



LIFE IN A TANK 



By 

RICHARD HAIGH, M.C 

CAPTAIN IN THE TANK CORPS 
With Illustrations 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

<$&e M&zxtfbi t$iz$$ Cambri&ge 

1918 









COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY RICHARD HAIGH 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Published June iqiS 



I.Z* 



JUN 24 1918 
©CI.A497878 



Contents 

I. The Meaning of the Tank Corps i 

II. First Days of Training 1 1 

III. Later Days of Training . . . . .37 

IV. Moving up the Line . . . . . .49 

V. Preparations for the Show . . . .61 

VI. The First Battle 76 

VII. The Second Battle 90 

VIII. Rest and Discipline 120 

IX. A Philosophy of War. ; 128 



Illustrations 



A Tank on its Way into Action . . . Frontispiece 
British Official Photograph 

King George and Queen Mary inspecting a Tank 
on the British Front in France .... 8 

British Official Photograph 

A British Tank and its Crew in New York . 20 

Photograph by Underwood & Underwood 

A Tank moving to the Attack down what was 
once a Main Street 56 

British Official Photograph 

A Tank going over a Trench on its Way into Ac- 
tion 7 2 

British Official Photograph 

A Tank halfway over the Top and awaiting the 
Order to Advance in the Battle of Menin Road 80 

Photograph by Underwood & Underwood 

A Tank bringing in a Captured German Gun 
under Protection of Camouflage . . . .112 
Photograph by Underwood & Underwood 

A British Tank in the Liberty Loan Parade in 
New York 124 

Photograph by Underwood & Underwood 



LIFE IN A TANK 



THE MEANING OF THE TANK CORPS 

TANKS! 

To the uninitiated — as were we in those days 
when we returned to the Somme, too late to see 
the tanks make their first dramatic entrance — 
the name conjures up a picture of an iron mon- 
ster, breathing fire and exhaling bullets and 
shells, hurling itself against the enemy, un- 
assailable by man and impervious to the most 
deadly engines of war; sublime, indeed, in its 
expression of indomitable power and resolu- 
tion. 

This picture was one of the two factors which 
attracted us toward the Heavy Branch Ma- 
chine-Gun Corps — as the Tank Corps was 
known in the first year of its being. On the 
Somme we had seen a derelict tank, wrecked, 
despoiled of her guns, and forsaken in No 

i 



Life in a Tank 

Man's Land. We had swarmed around and 
over her, wild with curiosity, much as the Lilli' 
putians must have swarmed around the pros* 
trate Gulliver. Our imagination was fired. 

The second factor was, frankly, that we were 
tired of going over the top as infantrymen. The 
first time that a man goes into an attack, he as 
a rule enjoys it. He has no conception of its 
horrors, — no, not horrors, for war possesses no 
horrors, — but, rather, he has no knowledge of 
the sudden realization of the sweetness of life 
that comes to a man when he is "up against it." 
The first time, it is a splendid, ennobling nov- 
elty. And as for the "show" itself, in actual 
practice it is more like a dream which only 
clarifies several days later, after it is all over. 
But to do the same thing a second and third and 
fourth time, is to bring a man face to face with 
Death in its fullest and most realistic uncer- 
tainty. In soldier jargon he "gets most awful 
wind up." It is five minutes before "Zero 
Hour." All preparations are complete. You are 
waiting for the signal to hop over the parapet. 
Very probably the Boche knows that you are 



The Meaning of the Tank Corps 

coming, and is already skimming the sandbags 
with his machine guns and knocking little pieces 
of earth and stone into your face. Extraordi- 
nary, how maddening is the sting of these harm- 
less little pebbles and bits of dirt ! The bullets 
ricochet away with a peculiar singing hiss, or 
crack overhead when they go too high. The 
shells which burst on the other side of the para- 
pet shake the ground with a dull thud and 
crash. There are two minutes to wait before 
going over. Then is the time when a man feels 
a sinking sensation in his stomach; when his 
hands tremble ever so slightly, and when he of- 
fers up a pathetic little prayer to God that if 
he's a bit of a sportsman he may be spared from 
death, should his getting through not violate 
the divine and fatalistic plans. He has that 
unpleasant lack of knowledge of what comes be- 
yond. For after all, with the most intense belief 
in the world, it is hard to reconcile the com- 
forting feeling of what one knows with that 
terrible dread of the unknown. 

A man has no great and glorious ideas that 
nothing matters because he is ready to die for 

3 



Life in a Tank 

his country. He is, of course, ready to die for 
her. But he does not think about it. He lights 
a cigarette and tries to be nonchalant, for he 
knows that his men are watching him, and it 
is his duty to keep up a front for their sake. 
Probably, at the same time, they are keeping 
up a front for him. Then the Sergeant Major 
comes along, cool and smiling, as if he were 
out for a stroll at home. Suddenly he is an im- 
mense comfort. One forgets that sinking feel- 
ing in the stomach and thinks, "How easy 
and jolly he is! What a splendid fellow!" 
Immediately, one begins unconsciously to imi- 
tate him. Then another thinks the same thing 
about one, and begins to imitate too. So it 
passes on, down the line. But there is nothing 
heroic or exalting in going over the top. 

This, then, was our possible second reason for 
preferring to attack inside bullet-proof steel; not 
that death is less likely in a tank, but there 
seems to be a more sporting chance with a shell 
than with a bullet. The enemy infantryman 
looks along his sight and he has you for a cer- 
tainty, but the gunner cannot be so accurate 

4 



The Meaning of the Tank Corps 

and twenty yards may mean a world of differ- 
ence. Above all, the new monster had our im- 
aginations in thrall. Here were novelty and 
wonderful developments. 

In the end of 1 916, therefore, a certain num- 
ber of officers and men received their orders to 
join the H.B.M.G.C., and proceeded sorrow- 
fully and joyfully away from the trenches. 
Sorrowfully, because it is a poor thing to leave 
your men and your friends in danger, and get 
out of it yourself into something new and 
fresh; joyfully, because one is, after all, but 
human. 

About thirty miles behind the line some vil- 
lages were set aside for the housing and train- 
ing of the new units. Each unit had a nucleus 
of men who had already served in tanks, with 
the new arrivals spread around to make up to 
strength. 

The new arrivals came from all branches 
of the Service; Infantry, Sappers, Gunners, 
Cavalry, and the Army Service Corps. Each 
man was very proud of his own Branch; and 
a wonderfully healthy rivalry and affection 

5 



Life in a Tank 

sprang up between them. The gunner twitted 
the sapper, the cavalryman made jokes at the 
A.S.C., and the infantryman groused at the 
whole lot. But all knew at the bottom of their 
hearts, how each is essential to the other. 

It was to be expected when all these varied 
men came together, that the inculcating of a 
proper esprit de corps — the training of each in- 
dividual in an entirely new science for the bene- 
fit of the whole — would prove a very difficult 
and painstaking task. But the wonderful de- 
velopment, however, in a few months, of a 
large, heterogeneous collection of men into a 
solid, keen, self-sacrificing unit, was but an- 
other instance of the way in which war im- 
proves the character and temperament of man. 

It was entirely new for men who were for- 
merly in a regiment, full of traditions, to find 
themselves in the Tank Corps. Here was a 
Corps, the functions of which resulted from an 
idea born of the exigencies of this science-de- 
manding war. Unlike every other branch of the 
Service, it has no regimental history to direct 
it, no traditions upon which to build, and still 

6 



The Meaning of the Tank Corps 

more important from a practical point of view, 
no experience from which to draw for guidance, 
either in training or in action. In the Infantry, 
the attack has resulted from a steady develop- 
ment in ideas and tactics, with past wars to 
give a foundation and this present one to sug- 
gest changes and to bring about remedies for 
the defects which crop up daily. With this new 
weapon, which was launched on the Somme on 
September 15, 1916, the tactics had to be de- 
cided upon with no realistic experimentation as 
ground work; and, moreover, with the very 
difficult task of working in concert with other 
arms of the Service that had had two years of 
fighting, from which to learn wisdom. 

With regard to discipline, too, — of all 
things the most important, for the success of 
a battle has depended, does, and always will de- 
pend, upon the state of discipline of the troops 
engaged, — all old regiments have their staff 
of regular instructors to drill and teach re- 
cruits. In them has grown up that certain feel- 
ing and loyalty which time and past deeds have 
done so much to foster and cherish. Here were 



Life in a Tank 

we, lacking traditions, history, and experience 
of any kind. 

It is easy to realize the responsibility that lay 
not only upon the Chief of this new Corps, but 
upon each individual and lowest member there- 
of. It was for us all to produce esprit de corps, 
and to produce it quickly. It was necessary for 
us to develop a love of the work, not because 
we felt it was worth while, but because we 
knew that success or failure depended on each 
man's individual efforts. 

But, naturally, the real impetus came from 
the top, and no admiration or praise can be 
worthy of that small number of men in whose 
hands the real destinies of this new formation 
lay; who were continually devising new schemes 
and ideas for binding the whole together, and 
for turning that whole into a highly efficient, up- 
to-date machine. 

"How did the tank happen to be invented?" 
is a common question. The answer is that in 
past wars experience has made it an axiom that 
the defenders suffer more casualties than the 
attacking forces. From the first days of 19 14, 

8 



The Meaning of the Tank Corps 

however, this condition was reversed, and 
whole waves of attacking troops were mown 
down by two or three machine guns, each 
manned, possibly, by not more than three men. 
There may be in a certain sector, before an at- 
tack, an enormous preliminary bombardment 
which is destined to knock out guns, observa- 
tion posts, dumps, men, and above all, machine- 
gun emplacements. Nevertheless, it has been 
found in actual practice that despite the most 
careful observation and equally careful study 
of aeroplane photographs, there are, as a rule, 
just one or two machine guns which, either 
through bad luck or through precautions on 
the part of the enemy, have escaped destruc- 
tion. These are the guns which inflict the dam- 
age when the infantrymen go over and which 
may hold up a whole attack. . 

It was thought, therefore, that a machine 
might be devised which would cross shell- 
craters, wire and trenches, and be at the same 
time impervious to bullets, and which would 
contain a certain number of guns to be used 
for knocking out such machine guns as were 

9 



Life in a Tank 

still in use, or to lay low the enemy infantry. 
With this idea, a group of men, in the end of 

191 5, devised the present type of heavy ar- 
moured car. In order to keep the whole plan 
as secret as possible, about twenty-five square 
miles of ground in Great Britain were set aside 
and surrounded with armed guards. There, 
through all the spring and early summer of 

19 16, the work was carried on, without the 
slightest hint of its existence reaching the out- 
side world. Then, one night, the tanks were 
loaded up and shipped over to France, to make 
that first sensational appearance on the Somme, 
with the success which warranted their further 
production on a larger and more ambitious 
scale. 



II 

FIRST DAYS OF TRAINING 

We were at a rest camp on the Somme when 
the chit first came round regarding the joining 
of the H.B.M.G.C. The Colonel came up to 
us one day with some papers in his hand. 

"Does anybody want to join this?" he asked. 

We all crowded around to find out what 
"this" might be. 

"Tanks!" some one cried. Some were face- 
tious; others indifferent; a few mildly inter- 
ested. But no one seemed very keen about it, 
especially as the tanks in those days had a 
reputation for rather heavy casualties. Only 
Talbot, remembering the derelict and the 
interest she had inspired, said, with a laugh, — 

" I rather think I '11 put my name down, sir. 
Nothing will come of it, but one might just as 
well try." And taking one of the papers he filled 
it in, while the others stood around making all 
the remarks appropriate to such an occasion. 

ii 



Life in a Tank 

Two or three weeks went by and Talbot 
had forgotten all about it, in the more absorbing 
events which crowded months into days on the 
Somme. 

One day the Adjutant came up to him and, 
smiling, put out his hand. 

"Well, good-bye, Talbot. Good luck." 

When a man puts out his hand and says 
"Good-bye," you naturally take the proffered 
hand and say "Good-bye," too. Talbot found 
himself saying "Good-bye" before he realized 
what he was doing. Then he laughed. 

"Now that IVe said 'Good-bye,' where am 
I going?" he asked. 

"To the Tanks," the Adjutant replied. 

So he was really to go; really to leave behind 
his battalion, his friends, his men, and his serv- 
ant. For a moment the Somme and the camp 
seemed the most desirable places on earth. 
He thought he must have been a fool the 
day he signed that paper signifying his de- 
sire to join another Corps. But it was done 
now. There were his orders in the Colonel's 
hand. 

12 



First Days of Training 

"When do I start, sir? And where do I go?" 
he asked. 

"You're to leave immediately for B , 

wherever that is. Take your horse as far as 

the railhead and get a train for B , where 

the Tank Headquarters are. Good-bye, Tal- 
bot; I'm sorry to lose you." A silent hand- 
shake, and they parted. 

Talbot's kit was packed and sent off on 
the transport. A few minutes later he was 
shaking hands all round. His spirits were ris- 
ing at the thought of this new adventure, but 
it was a wrench, leaving his regiment. It was, 
in a way, he thought, as if he were turning his 
back on an old friend. The face of Dobbin, 
his groom, as he brought the horses round was 
not conducive to cheer. He must get the busi- 
ness over and be off. So he mounted and rode 
off through a gray, murky drizzle, to the rail- 
head about eight miles away. There came 
the parting with Dobbin and with his pony. 
Horses mean as much as men sometimes, and 
his had worked so nobly with him through the 
mud on the Somme. He wondered if there would 

13 



Life in a Tank 

be any one in the new place who would be 
so faithful to him as Polly. Finally, there was 

Dobbin riding away, back to M , with the 

horse, and its empty saddle, trotting along be- 
side him. It was simply rotten leaving them 
all! 

One has, however, little time for introspec- 
tion in the Army, and especially when one 
engages in a tilt with an R.T.O. The R.T.O. 
has been glorified by an imaginative soul with 
the title of "Royal Transportation Officer." 
As a matter of fact, the "R" does not stand 
for "royal," but for "railway," and the "T" 
is "transport," nothing so grandiose as "trans- 
portation." Now an R.T.O.'s job, though it 
may be a safe one, is not enviable. He is forced 
to combine the qualities of booking-clerk, sta- 
tion-master, goods-agent, information clerk, 
and day and night watchman all into one. In 
consequence of this it is necessary for the 
traveller's speech and attitude to be strictly 
soothing and complimentary. Talbot's obses- 
sion at this moment was as to whether B — — 
was near or far back from the line. 

. 14 



First Days of Training 

If he supposed that B was "near" the 

line, the R.T.O. might tell him — just to prove 
how kind Fate is — that it was a good many- 
miles in the rear. But no such luck. The R.T.O. 
coldly informed Talbot that he had n't the 

slightest idea where B was. He only knew 

that trains went there. And, by the way, the 
trains did n't go there direct. It would be nec- 
essary for him to change at Boulogne. Talbot 
noticed these signs of thawing with delight. 
And to change at Boulogne ! Life was brighter. 

Travelling in France in the northern area, 
at the present time, would seem to be a refu- 
tation of the truth that a straight line is the 
shortest distance between two points. For in 
order to arrive at one's destination, it is usu- 
ally necessary to go about sixty miles out of 
one's way, — hence the necessity for Talbot's 
going to Boulogne in order to get a train run- 
ning north. 

He arrived at Boulogne only to find that 
the train for B — — left in an hour. 

He strolled out into the streets. Boulogne 
had then become the Mecca for all those in 

IS 



Life in a Tank 

search of gaiety. Here were civilized people 
once again. And a restaurant with linen and 
silver and shining glass, and the best dinner 
he had ever eaten. 

When he had paid his bill and gone out, he 
stopped at the corner of the street just to look 
at the people passing by. A large part of the 
monotony of this war is occasioned, of course, 
by the fact that the soldier sees nothing but 
the everlasting drab of uniforms. When a man 
is in the front line, or just behind, for weeks 
at a time he sees nothing but soldiers, soldiers, 
soldiers ! Each man has the same coloured uni- 
form; each has the same pattern tunic, the 
same puttees. Each is covered with the same 
mud for days at a time. It is the occasion for 
a thrill when a "Brass Hat" arrives, for he 
at least has the little brilliant red tabs on his 
tunic! A man sometimes finds himself envy- 
ing the soldiers of the old days who could have 
occasional glimpses of the dashing uniforms of 
their officers, and although a red coat makes a 
target of a man, the colour is at least more 
cheerful than the eternal khaki. The old-time 

16 



First Days of Training 

soldier had his red coat and his bands, blaring 
encouragingly. The soldier of to-day has his 
drab and no music at all, unless he sings. And 
every man in an army is not gifted with a voice. 

So Talbot looked with joy on the charm- 
ing dresses and still more charming faces of 
the women and girls who passed him. Even 
the men in their civilian clothes were good to 
look upon. 

Riding on French trains is very soothing 

unless one is in a hurry. But unlike a man in 

civil life, the soldier has no interest in the speed 

of trains. The civilian takes it as a personal 

affront if his train is a few minutes late, or if it 

does not go as fast as he thinks it should. But 

the soldier can afford to let the Government look 

after such minor details. The train moved along 

at a leisurely pace through the lovely French 

countryside, making frequent friendly stops at 

wayside stations. On the platform at Etaples 

station was posted a rhyme which read : — 

"A wise old owl lived in an oak, 
The more he saw, the less he spoke; 
The less he spoke, the more he heard; 
Soldiers should imitate that old bird." 

17 



Life in a Tank 

It was the first time that Talbot had seen 
this warlike ditty. Its intention was to guard 
soldiers from saying too much in front of 
strangers. Talbot vowed, however, to apply 
its moral to himself at all times and under all 
conditions. 

From nine in the morning until half-past 
two in the afternoon they rolled along, and had 
covered by this time the extraordinary dis- 
tance of about forty miles ! Here at last was the 
station of Saint-P . 

Talbot looked about him. Standing near 
was an officer with the Machine-Gun Corps 
Badge, whom he hailed, and questioned about 
the Headquarters of the Tank Corps. 

"About ten miles from here. Are you going 
there?" the fellow asked. 

Talbot explained that he hoped to, and be- 
ing saturated with Infantry ideas, he wondered 
if a passing motor lorry might give him a lift. 

The man laughed. "Why don't you tele- 
phone Headquarters and ask them to send a car 
over for you?" he asked. 

Talbot did not quite know whether the 
18 



First Days of Training 

fellow were ragging him or not. He decided 
that he was, for who had ever heard of "tele- 
phoning for a car"? 

"Oh, I don't believe I'll do that — thanks 
very much for the hint, all the same," he said. 
"Just tell me which road to take and I'll be 
quite all right." 

The officer smiled. 

"I'm quite serious about it," he said. "We 
all telephone for cars when we need them. 
There's really no point in your walking — in 
fact, they'll be surprised if you stroll in upon 
them. Try telephoning and you'll find they 
won't die of shock." 

Partly to see whether they would or not, and 
partly because he found the prospect of a mo- 
tor car more agreeable than a ten-mile walk, 
Talbot telephoned. Here he experienced an- 
other pleasant surprise, for he was put through 
to Headquarters with no difficulty at all. A 
cheerful voice answered and he stated his case. 

"Cheero," the voice replied. "We'll have 
a car there for you in an hour — have n't one 
now, but there will be one ready shortly." 

19 



Life in a Tank 

Saint-P was a typical French town, and 

Talbot strolled around. There were soldiers 
everywhere, but the town had never seen the 
Germans, and it was a pleasant place. There 
was, too, a refreshing lack of thick mud — at 
least it was not a foot deep. 

Although Talbot could not quite believe 
that the car would materialize, it proved to 
be a substantial fact in the form of a box-body, 
and in about an hour he was speeding toward 
Headquarters. It was dark when they reached 
the village, and as they entered, he experienced 
that curious feeling of apprehensive expectancy 
with which one approaches the spot where one 
is to live and work for some time to come. The 
car slowed up to pass some carts on the road, 
and started forward with such a jerk that 
Talbot was precipitated from the back of the 
machine into the road. He picked himself up, 
covered with mud. The solemn face of the 
driver did not lessen his discomfiture. Here 
was a strange village, strange men, and he 
was covered with mud! 

Making himself as presentable as possible, 
20 





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41 





First Days of Training 

Talbot reported to Headquarters, and was 
posted to "J" Company, 4th Battalion. 
That night he had dinner with them. New men 
were arriving every few minutes, and the next 
day, after he had been transferred to "K" 
Company, they continued to arrive. The nu- 
cleus of this company were officers of the orig- 
inal tanks, three or four of them perhaps, and 
the rest was made up with the newcomers. 

Men continued to arrive in driblets, from the 
beginning of December to the first of January. 
When a new man joins an old regiment there is 
a reserve about the others which is rather chill- 
ing. They wait to see whether he is going to 
fit in, before they make any attempts to fit 
him in. In a way, this very aloofness makes for 
comfort on the part of the newcomer. At mess, 
he is left alone until he is absorbed naturally. 
It gives him a chance to find his level. 

All this was different with the Tank Corps. 
With the exception of the very few officers who 
were "old men," we were all painfully new, so 
that we regarded one another without criticism 
and came to know each other without having 

21 



Life in a Tank 

to break through the wall of reserve and in- 
stinctive mistrust which is characteristically 
British. A happy bond of good-fellowship was 
formed immediately. 

The first few days were spent in finding bil- 
lets for the men. They were finally quartered 
at a hospice in the village. This was a private 
almshouse, in charge of a group of French nuns, 
where lived a number of old men and women, 
most of them in the last stages of consumption. 
The Hospice consisted of the old Abbey of 
Ste. Berthe, built in the twelfth century, and 
several outbuildings around a courtyard. In 
these barns lived the men, and one large room 
was reserved for the officers' mess. The Com- 
pany Orderly Room and Quartermaster's 
Stores were also kept in the Hospice, and four 
or five officers were quartered above the Re- 
fectory. The buildings were clean and comfort- 
able, and the only drawback lay in the fact that 
one sometimes found it objectionable to have 
to look at these poor old creatures, dragging 
themselves around. They had nothing to do, 
it seemed, but to wait and die. One old man 

22 



First Days of Training 

was a gruesome sight. He was about ninety 
years old and spent his days walking about the 
courtyard, wearing a cigarette tin hung around 
his neck, into which he used to cough with such 
terrible effort that it seemed as if he would die 
every time the spasm shook him. As a matter 
of fact, he and many others did die before we 
left the village : the extreme cold was too much 
for them; or perhaps it was the fact that their 
quiet had been invaded by the "mad English." 
It was during this time that Talbot devel- 
oped a positive genius for disappearing when- 
ever a gray habit came into sight. The nuns 
were splendid women : kind and hospitable and 
eager for our comfort, but they did not like 
to be imposed upon, however slightly. The 
first thing that Frenchwomen do — and these 
nuns were no exception — when soldiers are 
billeted with them, is to learn who is the officer 
in charge, in order that they may lose no time in 
bringing their complaints to him. The Mother 
Superior of the Hospice selected Talbot with 
unerring zeal. His days were made miserable, 
until in self-defence he thought of formulating 

23 



Life in a Tank 

a new calendar of "crimes" for his men, in 
which would be included all the terrible offence? 
which the Mother Superior told off to him. 

Did the Colonel send for Captain Talbot, 
and did Talbot hurry off to obey the com- 
mand, just so surely would the Mother Superior 
select that moment to bar his path. 

"Ah, mon Capitaine!" she would exclaim, 
with a beaming smile. "J'ai quelque chose a 
vous dire. Un soldat — " 

Talbot would break in politely, just as she 
had settled down for a good long chat, and 
explain that the Colonel wished to see him. As 
well try to move the Rock. It was either stand 
and listen, or go into the presence of his su- 
perior officer with an excited nun following him 
with tales of the "crimes" his men had com- 
mitted. Needless to say, the Mother Superior 
conquered. Talbot would have visions of some 
fairly serious offence, and would hear the tale of 
a soldier who had borrowed a bucket an hour 
ago, promising, on his honour as a soldier of the 
King, to return it in fifty minutes at the most. 

"And it is now a full sixty minutes by the 
24 



First Days of Training 

clock on the kitchen mantel, M'sieu le Capi- 
taine," she would say, her colour mounting, 
"and your soldier has not returned my bucket. 
If he does not bring it back, when can we get 
another bucket?" 

And so on, until Talbot would pacify her, 
promising her that the bucket would be re- 
turned. Then he would go on to the Colonel, 
breathless and perturbed, his mind so full of 
buckets that there was hardly room for the 
business of the Tank Corps. Small wonder 
that the sight of a gray habit was enough to 
unnerve the man. 

He, himself, was billeted with a French fam- 
ily, just around the corner from the Hospice. 
The head of the family had been, in the halcyon 
days before the war, the village butcher. There 
was now Madame, the little Marie, a sturdy boy 
about twelve, and the old Grand'mere. The 
husband was away, of course, — "dans les tran- 
chees," explained Madame with copious tears. 

Talbot was moved to sympathy, and made 
a few tactful inquiries as to where the husband 
was now, and how he had fared. 

25 



Life in a Tank 

"II est maintenant a Paris," said Madame 
with a sigh. 

"In Paris! What rank has he? — a General, 
maybe?" 

"Ah, M'sieu s'amuse," said Madame, bright- 
ening up. No, her husband was a chef at an 
officers' mess in Paris, she explained proudly. 
He had been there since the war broke out. He 
would soon come home, the Saints be praised. 
Then the Captain would hear him tell his tales 
of life in the Army! 

The hero came home one day, and great was 
the rejoicing. Thrilling evenings the family 
spent around the stove while they listened to 
stories of great deeds. On the day when his 
permission was finished, and he set out for his 
hazardous post once more, great was the la- 
menting. Madame wept. All the brave man's 
relatives poured in to kiss him good-bye. The 
departing soldier wept, himself. Even Grand'- 
mere desisted for that day from cracking jokes, 
which she was always doing in a patois that to 
Talbot was unintelligible. 

But they were very kind to Talbot, and 
26 



First Days of Training 

very courageous through the hard winter. 
When he lay ill with fever in his little low room, 
where the frost whitened the plaster and icicles 
hung from the ceiling, Madame and all the 
others were most solicitous for his comfort. 
His appreciation and thanks were sincere. 

By the middle of December the Battalion 
had finally settled down and we began our 
training. Our first course of study was in the 
mechanism of the tanks. We marched down, 
early one morning, to an engine hangar that 
was both cold and draughty. We did not look 
in the least like embryo heroes. Over our 
khaki we wore ill-fitting blue garments which 
men on the railways, who wear them, call 
"boilers." The effect of wearing them was to 
cause us to slouch along, and suddenly Talbot 
burst out laughing at the spectacle. Then he 
remembered having heard that some of the 
original "Tankers" had, during the Somme 
battles, been mistaken for Germans in their 
blue dungarees. They had been fired on from 
some distance away, by their own infantry; 
though nothing fatal ensued. In consequence, 

27 



Life in a Tank 

before the next "show" chocolate ones were 
issued. 

In the shadows of the engine shed, a gray 
armour-plated hulk loomed up. 

"There it is!" cried Gould, and started for- 
ward for a better look at the "Willie." 

Across the face of Rigden, the instructor, 
flashed a look of scorn and pain. Just such a 
look you may have seen on the face of a young 
mother when you refer to her baby as "it." 

"Don't call a tank 'it,' Gould," he said with 
admirable patience. "A tank is either 'he' or 
'she'; there is no 'it.'" 

"In Heaven's name, what's the difference?" 
asked Gould, completely mystified. The rest 
of us were all ears. 

"The female tank carries machine guns only," 
Rigden explained. "The male tank carries 
light field guns as well as machine guns. Don't 
ever make the mistake again, any of you 
fellows." 

Having firmly fixed in our minds the fact 
that we were to begin on a female "Willie," the 
instruction proceeded rapidly. Rigden opened 

28 



First Days of Training 

a little door in the side of the tank. It was about 
as big as the door to a large, old-fashioned brick 
oven built into the chimney beside the fireplace. 
His head disappeared and his body followed 
after. He was swallowed up, save for a hand 
that waved to us and a muffled voice which 
said, "Come on in, you fellows." 

Gould went first. He scrambled in, was lost 
to sight, and then we heard his voice. 

McKnutt's infectious laugh rose above the 
sound of our mirth. But not for long. 

"Hurry up!" called Rigden. "You next, 
McKnutt." 

McKnutt disappeared. Then to our further 
astonishment his rich Irish voice could be 
heard upraised in picturesque malediction. 
What was Rigden doing to them inside the tank 
to provoke such profanity from them both? 
The rest of us scrambled to find out. We soon 
learned. , 

When you enter a tank, you go in head first, 
entering by the side doors. (There is an emer- 
gency exit — a hole in the roof which is used 
by the wise ones.) You wiggle your body in 

29 



Life in a Tank 

with more or less grace, and then you stand up. 
Then, if it is the first time, you are usually pro- 
fane. For you have banged your head most 
unmercifully against the steel roof and you 
learn, once and for all, that it is impossible to 
stand upright in a tank. Each one of us re- 
ceived our baptism in this way. Seven of us, 
crouched in uncomfortable positions, ruefully 
rubbed our heads, to Rigden's intense enjoy- 
ment. Our life in a tank had begun ! 

We looked around the little chamber with 
eager curiosity. Our first thought was that 
seven men and an officer could never do any 
work in such a little place. Eight of us were, at 
present, jammed in here, but we were standing 
still. When it came to going into action and 
moving around inside the tank, it would be 
impossible, — there was no room to pass one 
another. So we thought. In front are two stiff 
seats, one for the officer and one for the driver. 
Two narrow slits serve as portholes through 
which to look ahead. In front of the officer 
is a map board, and gun mounting. Behind 
the engine, one on each side, are the secondary 

30 



First Days of Training 

gears. Down the middle of the tank is the pow- 
erful petrol engine, part of it covered with a 
hood, and along either side a narrow passage 
through which a man can slide from the offi- 
cer's and driver's seat back and forth to the 
mechanism at the rear. There are four gun tur- 
rets, two on each side. There is also a place 
for a gun in the rear, but this is rarely used, for 
" Willies " do not often turn tail and flee ! 

Along the steel walls are numberless ingeni- 
ous little cupboards for stores, and ammunition 
cases are stacked high. Every bit of space is 
utilized. Electric bulbs light the interior. Be- 
side the driver are the engine levers. Behind 
the engine are the secondary gears, by which 
the machine is turned in any direction. All 
action inside is directed by signals, for when the 
tank moves the noise is such as to drown a 



man's voice. 



All that first day and for many days after, we 
struggled with the intricacies of the mechan- 
ism. Sometimes, Rigden despaired of us. We 
might just as well go back to our regiments, 
unless they were so glad to be rid of us that 

3i 



Life in a Tank 

they would refuse. On other days, he beamed 
with pride, even when Darwin and the Old Bird 
distinguished themselves by asking foolish 
questions. "Darwin " is, of course, not his right 
name. Because he came from South Africa and 
looked like a baboon, we called him "Baboon." 
So let evolution evolve the name of "Darwin" 
for him in these pages. As for the Old Bird, 
no other name could have suited him so well. 
He was the craftiest old bird at successfully 
avoiding work we had ever known, and yet he 
was one of the best liked men in the Company. 
He was one of those men who are absolutely 
essential to a mess because of his never-failing 
cheer and gaiety. He never did a stroke of work 
that he could possibly "wangle" out of. A 
Scotchman by birth, he was about thirty-eight 
years old and had lived all over the world. He 
had a special fondness for China. Until he left 
"K" Company, he was never known by any 
other name than that of "Old Bird." 

There was one man, from another Company, 
who gave us the greatest amusement during 
our Tank-mechanism Course. He was pa- 

32 



First Days of Training 

thetically in earnest, but appeared to have no 
brains at all. Sometimes, while asking each 
other catch questions, we would put the most 
senseless ones to him. 

I Darwin would say, "Look here, how is the 
radiator connected with the differential?" 

The poor fellow would ponder for a minute 
or two and then reply, "Oh! through the mag- 



neto." 



He naturally failed again and again to pass 
his tests, and was returned to his old Corps. 

Somehow we learned not to attempt to 
stand upright in our steel prison. Before long, 
McKnutt had ceased his remarks about sar- 
dines in a tin and announced, "Sure! there 
is plenty of room and to spare for a dozen 
others here." The Old Bird no longer compared 
the atmosphere, when we were all shut in tight, 
with the Black Hole of Calcutta. In a word, 
we had succumbed to the "Willies," and would 
permit no man to utter a word of criticism 
against them. 

It is necessary here, perhaps, to explain why 
we always call our machines "Willies." When 

33 



U 



Life in a Tank 

the tanks were first being experimented upon, 
they evolved two, a big and a little one 
Standing together they looked so ludicrous, 
that they were nicknamed "Big" and "Little 
Willie." The name stuck; and now, no one in 
the Corps refers to his machine in any other 
way. 

A few days before Christmas, our tank 
course was finished, and the Old Bird suggested 
a celebration. McKnutt led the cheering. 
Talbot had an idea. 

"Let's get a box-body and go over to Amiens 
and do our Christmas shopping," he said. 

A chorus of "Jove, that's great!" arose. 
Every one made himself useful excepting the 
Old Bird, who made up by contributing more 
than any one else to the gaiety of the occasion. 
The car was secured, and we all piled in, mak- 
ing early morning hideous with our songs. 

We sped along over the snowy roads. War 
seemed very far away. We were extraordinarily 
light-hearted. After about twenty miles the 
cold sobered us down a little. Suddenly, the 
car seemed to slip from under us and we found 

34 



First Days of Training 

ourselves piled up in the soft snow of the'road. 
A rear wheel had shot off, and it went rolling 
along on its own. Fortunately we had been 
going rather slowly since we were entering a 
town, and no one was hurt. Borwick, the musi- 
cian of the Company, looked like a snow image; 
Darwin and the Old Bird were locked in each 
other's arms, and had an impromptu and 
friendly wrestling match in a snowdrift. Mc- 
Knutt was invoking the aid of the Saints in 
his endeavours to prevent the snow from 
trickling down his back. Talbot and Gould, 
who had got off lightly, supplied the laughter. 
The wheel was finally rescued and restored to 
its proper place, and we crawled along at an 
ignominious pace until the spires of Amiens 
welcomed us. 

We shopped in the afternoon, buying all sorts 
of ridiculous things, and collecting enough 
stores to see us through a siege. After a hilari- 
ous dinner at the Hotel de l'Univers (never 
had the Old Bird been so witty and gay), we 
started back about eleven o'clock, and forget- 
ting our injured wheel, raced out of the town 

35 



Life in a Tank 

toward home. A short distance down the main 
boulevard, the wheel again came off, and this 
time the damage could not be repaired. There 
was nothing for it but to wait until morning, 
and it was a disconsolate group that wandered 
about. All the hotels were full up. Finally, a 
Y.M.C.A. hut made some of us welcome. 
We sat about, reading and talking, until we 
dozed off in our chairs. The next morning we 
got a new wheel and ran gingerly the sixty- 
odd miles back, to regale the others with en- 
viable tales of our pre-Christmas festivities. 



Ill 

LATER DAYS OF TRAINING 

"Well, thank Heaven, that sweat's over," 
said the Old Bird the night after we finished 
our tank course, and had our celebration. He 
stretched luxuriously. 

"Yes, but you're starting off again on the 
gun to-morrow morning," said the Major, 
cheerfully. 

The Old Bird protested. 

"But I can have a few days' rest, sir, can't 
I?" he said sorrowfully. 

The Major laughed. 

"No, you can't. You're down, so you'll 
have to go through with it." 

So for three days we sat in the open, in the 
driving sleet, from half-past eight in the morn- 
ing until half-past four in the afternoon, learn- 
ing the gun. On the fourth day we finished off 
our course with firing on the range. Surpris- 
ing as it may seem, after two or three rounds 

37 



Life in a Tank 

we could hit the very smallest object at a dis- 
tance of four or five hundred yards. 

"How many more courses must we go 
through?" asked the Old Bird of Rigden, as 
they strolled back one evening from the range. 
The Old Bird was always interested in how 
much — or, rather, how little — work he had 
before him. 

"There's the machine gun; the signalling 
course, — you '11 have to work hard on that, 
but I know you don't object, — and also re- 
volver practice. Are n't you thrilled?" 

"No, I'm not," grumbled the Old Bird. 
"Life is n't worth living with all this work to 
do. I wish we could get into action." 

"So do I," said Talbot, joining them. "But 
while we're waiting, would n't you rather be 
back here with good warm billets and a com- 
fortable bed and plenty to eat, instead of sit- 
ting in a wet trench with the Infantry?" He 
remembered an old man in his regiment who 
had been with the Salvation Army at home. 
He would stump along on his flat feet, trudg- 
ing miles with his pack on his back, and Tal- 

38 



Later Days of Training 

bot had never heard him complain. He was 
bad at drill. He could never get the orders 
or formations through his head. Talbot had 
often lost patience with him, but the old fel- 
low was always cheerful. One morning, in 
front of Bapaume, after a night of terrible cold, 
the old man could not move. Talbot tried 
to cheer him up and to help him, but he said 
feebly: "I think I'm done for — I don't be- 
lieve I shall ever get warm. But never mind, 
sir." And in a few minutes he died, as uncom- 
plainingly as he had lived. 

"You're right, of course, Talbot," the Old 
Bird said. "We're very well off here. But, I 
say, how I should like to be down in Boulogne 
for a few days!" And until they reached the 
Mess, the Old Bird dilated on the charm of 
Boulogne and all the luxuries he would indulge 
in the next time he visited the city. 

The rest of that week found us each day 
parading at eight o'clock in the courtyard of 
the Hospice, and after instruction the various 
parties marched off to their several duties. 
Some of us went to the tankdrome; some of 

39 



Life in a Tank 

us to the hills overlooking historic Agincourt, 
and others to the barn by the railroad where 
we practised with the guns. Another party 
accompanied Borwick to a secluded spot where 
he drilled them in machine-gun practice. Bor- 
wick was as skilful with a machine gun as with 
a piano. This was the highest praise one could 
give him. 

That night at mess, Gould said suddenly: — 
"To-morrow's a half day, is n't it?" 
"Of course. Wake up, you idiot," said Tal- 
bot. "We're playing 'J' Company at soccer, 
and on Sunday we're playing 'L' at rugger. 
Two strenuous days before us. Are you feeling 
fit?" 

Gould was feeling most awfully fit. In fact, 
he assured the mess that he, alone, was a 
match for "J" Company. 

Our soccer team was made up almost en- 
tirely of men who had been professional play- 
ers. We had great pride in them, so that 
on the following afternoon, an eager crowd 
streamed out of the village to our football 
field, which we had selected with great care. It 

40 



Later Days of Training 

was as flat as a cricket pitch. A year ago it 
had been ploughed as part of the French farm- 
land, and now here were the English playing 
football! 

Before the game began there was a good deal 
of cheerful chaffing on the respective merits 
of the "J" and "K" Company teams. And 
when the play was in progress and savage yells 
rent the air, the French villagers looked on in 
wonder and pity. They had always believed 
the English to be mad. Now they were con- 
vinced of it. 

From the outset, however, "J" Company 
was hopelessly outclassed, and wishing to be 
generous to 'a failing foe, we ceased our wild 
cheering. "J" Company, on the other hand, 
wishing to exhort their team to greater efforts, 
made up for our moderation, with the result 
that our allies were firmly convinced that "J" 
Company had won the game! If not, why 
should they dance up and down and wave their 
hats and shriek? And even the score, five to 
one in favor of "K" Company, failed to con- 
vince them entirely. But "K" went home to 

4i 



Life in a Tank 

an hilarious tea, with a sense of work well 
done. 

And what of the rugger game the next day? 
Let us draw a veil over it. Suffice it to say that 
the French congratulated "K" Company over 
the outcome of that, although the score was 
twelve to three in favor of "J"! 

We awoke on Monday morning with a de- 
lightful feeling that something pleasant was 
going to happen, for all the world the same 
sensation we used to experience on waking on 
our birthday and suddenly remembering that 
gifts were sure to appear and that there would 
be something rather special for tea! By the 
time full consciousness returned, we remem- 
bered that this was the day when, for the first 
time, the tank was to be set in motion. Even 
the Old Bird was eager. 

We hurry off to the tankdrome. One after 
another we slide in through the little door and 
are swallowed up. The door is bolted behind the 
last to enter. Officer and driver slip into their 
respective seats. The steel shutters of the 
portholes click as they are opened. The gun- 

42 



Later Days of Training 

ners take their positions. The driver opens the 
throttle a little and tickles the carburetor, and 
the engine is started up. The driver races the 
engine a moment, to warm her up. The officer 
reaches out a hand and signals for first speed 
on each gear; the driver throws his lever into 
first; he opens the throttle: the tank — our 
" Willie "—moves! 

Supposing you were locked in a steel box, 
with neither portholes to look through nor air- 
holes to breathe from. Supposing you felt the 
steel box begin to move, and, of course, were 
unable to see where you were going. Can you 
imagine the sensation ? Then you can guess the 
feelings of the men in a tank, — excepting the 
officer and driver, who can see ahead through 
their portholes, — when the monster gets un- 
der way. There are times, of course, with the 
bullets flying thick and fast, when all port- 
holes, for officer, driver, and gunners, must be 
closed. Then we plunge ahead, taking an 
occasional glimpse through the special pin- 
point holes. 

Thirty tons of steel rolls along with its hu- 
43 



Life in a Tank 

man freight. Suddenly, the driver rings a bell. 
He presses another button, and signals the 
driver of the right-hand track into "neutral." 
This disconnects the track from the engine. 
The tank swings around to the right. The right- 
hand driver gets the signal "First speed," and 
we are off again, at a right angle to our former 
direction. 

Now we are headed for a gentle slope across 
the field, and as we approach it, the tank digs 
her nose into the base of the hill. She crawls 
up. The men in the rear tip back and enjoy 
it hugely. If the hill is steep enough they may 
even find themselves lying flat on their backs 
or standing on their heads ! But no such luck. 
Presently they are standing as nearly upright 
as it is ever possible to stand, and the tank is 
balancing on the top of the slope. The driver is 
not expert as yet, and we go over with an awful 
jolt and tumble forward. This is rare fun! 

But the instructor is not pleased. We must 
try it all over again. So back again to attack 
the hill a second time. The top is reached once 
more and we balance there. The driver throws 

44 



Later Days of Training 

out his clutch, we slip over very gently, and 
carefully he lets the clutch in again and down 
we go. The " Willie " flounders around for the 
fraction of a second. Then, nothing daunted, 
she starts off once more. We have visions of 
her sweeping all before her some day far be- 
hind the German lines. 

Three or four weeks of this sort of thing, and 
we are hardened to it. 

Our reward came at last, however. After 
mess one morning, when the conversation had 
consisted mainly of the question, "When are 
we going into a show?" with no answer to the 
question, we were called into the Major's 
room, where he told us, in strictest secrecy, 
that in about three weeks a big attack was to 
come off. We should go in at last! 

For the next two or three weeks we studied 
maps and aeroplane photographs, marking out 
our routes, starting-points, rear ammunition- 
dumps, forward dumps, and lines of supply. 
At last, then, our goal loomed up and these 
months of training, for the most part interest- 
ing, but at times terribly boring, would bear 

45 



Life in a Tank 

fruit. Two direct results were noticeable now 
on looking back to the time when we joined. 
First, each man in the Battalion knew how to 
run a tank, how to effect slight repairs, how to 
work the guns, and how to obtain the best re- 
sults from the machine. Second, and very im- 
portant, was the fact that the men and officers 
had got together. The. crews and officers of 
each section knew and trusted each other. The 
strangeness of feeling that was apparent in the 
first days had now entirely disappeared, and 
that cohesion of units which is so essential in 
warfare had been accomplished. Each of us 
knew the other's faults and the mistakes he 
was prone to make. More important still, we 
knew our own faults and weaknesses and had 
the courage to carry on and overcome them. 

A few nights before we moved up the line, we 
gave a grand concert. Borwick and the Old 
Bird planned it. On an occasion of this sort, the 
Old Bird never grumbled at the amount of 
work he was obliged to do. Some weeks before 
we had bought a piano from one of the inhab- 
itants of the village, and the piano was nat- 

4 6 



Later Days of Training 

urally the piece de resistance of the concert. 
The Old Bird went around for days at a time, 
humming scraps of music with unintelligible 
words which it afterwards developed at the 
concert were awfully good songs of his own 
composing. The Battalion tailor was called 
in to make up rough Pierrot costumes. The 
Old Bird drilled us until we begged for mercy, 
while Borwick strummed untiringly at "the 
piano. At last the great night arrived. 

A stage had been built at one end of a hangar, 
and curtains hung up. 

The whole of the Staff and H.Q. had been 
invited, and the maire, the cure, the medecin of 
the village, and their families were also to at- 
tend. 

Promptly at eight o'clock, the concert be- 
gan, with Borwick at the piano. Everything 
went off without a hitch. Although "K" Com- 
pany provided most of the talent, the Bat- 
talion shared the honours of the entertainment. 
Each song had a chorus, and so appreciative 
was our audience that the choruses were re- 
peated again and again. The one "lady" of 

47 



Life in a Tank 

the Troupe looked charming, and "she" ar- 
ranged for "her" voice to be entirely in keep- 
ing with "her" dress and paint. The French 
spectators enjoyed it hugely. They were a 
great encouragement, for they laughed at 
everything uproariously, though it could not 
have been due to their understanding of the 
jokes. 

At ten o'clock we finished off with "God 
Save the King," and went back to our billets 
feeling that our stay in the village had been 
splendidly rounded off. 



IV 

MOVING UP THE LINE 

Two or three days before we were due to leave, 
we had received orders to pack our surplus kit, 
and have it at the Quartermaster's Stores at 
a certain time. We drew a long breath. This 
meant that the actual date, which up to the 
present had been somewhat indefinite, was 
close at hand. We were given orders to draw 
our tanks and the whole Company was marched 
over to work sheds about two miles away at 

E , where tanks and stores were issued. 

The variety and number of little things which 
it is necessary to draw when fitting out a tank 
for action is inconceivable. Tools, small spares, 
Pyrenes, electric lamps, clocks, binoculars, tele- 
scopes, petrol and oil funnels, oil squirts, grease 
guns, machine guns, headlights, tail lamps, steel 
hawsers, crowbars, shovels, picks, inspection 
lamps, and last, but not least, ammunition. 
The field-gun ammunition has to be taken out 

49 



Life in a Tank 

of its boxes and placed in the shell racks inside 
the tank. The S.A.A. (small arms ammunition) 
must be removed from its boxes and stacked 
away. At the same time every single round, 
before being put into the drum, must be gauged. 
All this has to be done in the last two or three 
days, and everything must be checked and 
countersigned. There is always a great deal 
of fun for Tank Commanders in drawing their 
stores. It is a temptation, when in the midst 
of all these thousands of articles, to seize the 
opportunity, when no one is looking, to pocket 
a few extra spares and dainty little tools, not, 
of course, for one's own personal benefit, but 
simply because such things are always being 
lost or stolen, and it is exasperating, to say 
the least, to find one's self, at a critical mo- 
ment, without some article which it is impos- 
sible to duplicate at the time. * 

During these last few days it was a contin- 
ual march for the men from B — — to E . 

Very often they were called back when their 
day's work was over to draw some new article 
or make some alteration which had been for- 

50 



Moving Up the Line 

gotten at the time they were in the work- 
shops. 

At last, however, — on the third day follow- 
ing the grand concert, — the kits were packed, 

loaded on to the lorries, and sent off to E . 

The troops said "Good-bye" to the village 
which had been such a happy home and school 
during that winter of 19 16, and the officers 
made their fond adieus to the mothers and 
daughters of the houses in which they had been 
billeted. 

The companies formed up and marched 
along to the workshops. Every one was in high 
spirits, and there was a friendly race to see 
which Company of the Battalion could load 
up their tanks in the shortest time on to the 
specially constructed steel trucks. 

A few days before all these activities com- 
menced, Talbot and another Tank Com- 
mander had gone on to the tanks' ultimate 

destination, A , a village which had been 

evacuated a few days before by the Germans 
on their now famous retirement to the Hinden- 
burg Line. It was a most extraordinary sight to 

5i 



Life in a Tank 

ride along the road from Albert to Bapaume, 
which during the summer and winter of the 
preceding year had witnessed such heavy fight- 
ing. The whole country on each side of the 
road was a desolate vista of shell-holes as far as 
the eye could see. Where villages had been, 
there was now no trace left of any sort of habi- 
tation. One might think that, however heavy 
a bombardment, some trace would be left of the 
village which had suffered. There was literally 
nothing left of the village through which had 
run the road they were now travelling. Over 
this scarred stretch of country were dotted 
camps and groups of huts, with duck-boards 
crossing the old shell-holes, some of which were 
still full of water. 

On approaching B — ■ — they saw traces 
everywhere of the methodical and organized 
methods by which the Germans had retired. 
The first sign was a huge shell-crater in the 
middle of the road, about forty feet deep, which 
the Boche had arranged to prevent armoured 
cars from following him up. If they did suc- 
ceed, the transports would be delayed in reach- 

52 



Moving Up the Line 

ing them, at all events. These holes were rather 
a nuisance, for the road itself was a mass of 
lesser shell-craters and the soft ground on each 
side was impassable. The road was crowded 
with engineers and labor battalions, filling in 
the shell-holes, and laying railways into the 
outskirts of A . 

In A — ■ — the old German notices were still 
standing as they had been left. Strung across 
the road on a wire was a notice which read: 
"Fuhrweg nach Behagnies." Every house in 
the town had been pulled down. The wily 
Boche had not even blown them up. Instead 
he [had saved explosives by attaching steel 
hawsers to the houses and by means of tractors 
had pulled them down, so that the roof and 
sides fell in on the foundation. Every pump 
handle in the village had been broken off short, 
and not a single piece of furniture was left be- 
hind. Later, we found the furniture from this 
and other villages in the Hindenburg Line. 

Saddest of all, however, was the destruction 
of the beautiful poplar trees which once bor- 
dered the long French roads built by Napoleon. 

53 



Life in a Tank 

These had been sawn off at their base and al- 
lowed to fall on the side of the road, not across 
it, as one might suppose. If they had been 
allowed to fall across the road, the Boche, him- 
self, would have been hindered in his last 
preparations for his retreat. Everything was 
done with military "ends in view. The villages 
were left in such a condition as to make them 
uninhabitable, the more to add to our dis- 
comfort and to make our hardships severer. 
The trees were cut down only on those parts of 
the road which were screened from observation 
from his balloons and present trenches. In some 
places where the road dipped into a valley the 
trees had been left untouched. 

At the place where our tanks were scheduled 
to arrive, and which had lately been a railhead 
of the Boche, all the metals had been torn up, 
and in order to destroy the station itself, he had 
smashed the cast-iron pillars which supported 
the roof, and in consequence the whole building 
had fallen in. But nothing daunted, the Brit- 
ish engineers were even now working at top 
speed laying down new lines. Some of the 

54 



Moving Up the Line 

metals, which a few short weeks before had been 
lying in countless stacks down on the quays at 
the Bases, now unrolled themselves at the rate 
of about two and a quarter miles a day. One 
interesting feature of this rapid track-laying 

was that when the tank train left E , on 

its two and a half days' journey down to the 

railhead at A , the track on which the train 

was to run was not completed into A — — . 
But, nevertheless, the track arrived ahead of 
the train, which was the main point! 

As they rode into the ruined village of A 

Talbot and his companion came across still 
further evidence of the steps which the German 
will take to inconvenience his enemy. In order 
to battle against the hordes of rats which are so 
prevalent in the old parts of the line in France, 
the Boche breeds cats in enormous numbers. 
Yet, in order to carry out to the limit his idea 
that nothing of value should fall into our hands, 
he had killed every cat in the village. In every 
house three or four of these poor little crea- 
tures lay around with their heads chopped off. 
Tabby cats, black cats, white cats, and little 

55 



Life in a Tank 

kittens, all dead. Farther on, over a well at the 
corner of the main square was posted a sign 
which read: "This well is poisoned. Do not 
touch. By order. R.E." 

Here and there a house had been left intact, 
with its furniture untouched. It was not until 
later that it struck us as peculiar that these 
houses had been spared from the general de- 
struction. Two or three days later, however, 
after we had moved in, and headquarters had 
been established, we discovered that under 
many of these houses, and at certain cross- 
roads which had not been blown up in the usual 
manner, the Boche had left mines, timed to go 
off at any time up to twenty-eight days. One 
could never be sure that the ground under- 
neath one's feet would not blow up at any mo- 
ment. These mines were small boxes of high 
explosive, inside of which was a little metal tube 
with trigger and detonator attached. Inside 
the tube was a powerful acid, which, when it 
had eaten its way through, set free the trigger 
and exploded the charge. The length of time 
it took for the mine to explode was gauged 

56 






*s*~~ 



A TANK MOVING TO THE ATTACK DOWN WHAT WAS 
ONCE A MAIN STREET 



Moving Up the Line 

by the strength or weakness of the acid in the 
tube. 

We were also impressed with the mechanical 
genius of the German. The Boche had made a 
veritable mechanical toy out of nearly every 
house in the village which he had spared. De- 
lightful little surprises had been prepared for us 
everywhere. Kick a harmless piece of wood, and 
in a few seconds a bomb exploded. Pick up a 
bit of string from the floor and another bomb 
went off. Soon we learned to be wary of the 
most innocent objects. Before touching any- 
thing we made elaborate preparations for our 
safety. 

One of the men was greatly annoyed by a wire 
which hung over his head when he was asleep, 
but he did not wish to remove it. He had de- 
cided that it was connected with some devilish 
device which would do him no good. Finally, 
one morning, he could endure this sword of 
Damocles no longer. With two boon com- 
panions, he carefully attached a string about 
fifteen yards long to the wire. They tiptoed 
gently out of the house to a discreet distance, 

57 



Life in a Tank 

and with a yell of triumph, the hero pulled the 
string, — and nothing happened! 

But there was another side to all this. Mc- 
Knutt some time afterwards came in with an 
interesting story. Some Sappers, he said, had 
been digging under a house in the village, pre- 
sumably for the mysterious reasons that always 
drive the Engineers to dig in unlikely places. 
One of them pushed his shovel into what had 
been the cellar of the house, but as the roof had 
fallen in on the entrance, they did not know of 
its existence. When they finally forced their 
way in, they found two German officers and 
two Frenchwomen in a terribly emaciated con- 
dition. One of the Boches and one of the women 
lay dead, locked in each other's arms. The 
other two still breathed, but when they were 
brought up into the open they expired within a 
few hours without either of them giving an ex- 
planation. The only reason we could find for 
their terrible plight was that the women had 
been forced down there by the officers to un- 
dergo a last farewell, while the Germans were 
destroying the village, and that the house had 

58 



Moving Up the Line 

fallen in on top of them. Later, probably no 
one knew where they had disappeared, and they 
were unable to get out of the ruins or to 

make themselves heard. The village of A 

gained a romantic reputation after that, and it 
was curious to realize that we had been living 
there for days while this silent tragedy was be- 
ing enacted. 

In addition to the destruction in the towns, 
the beautiful orchards which are so numerous 
in France were ruined. Apple, pear, and plum 
trees lay uprooted on the ground, and here 
again the military mind of the German had 
been at work. He did not wish the fruit that 
the trees would bear in future to fall into our 
hands. "' 

But although the village was a pretty poor 
place in which to stay, the near presence of a 
B.E.F. Canteen was a comfort. It is always 
amazing to visit one of these places. Within 
perhaps four or five miles of the firing line we 
have stores selling everything from a silver 
cigarette case to a pair of boots, and every- 
thing, too, at nearly cost price. The Canteen 

59 



Life in a Tank 

provides almost every variety of smoking ma- 
terials, and eatables, and their only disadvan- 
tage is that they make packages from home 
seem so useless. As the tobaccos come straight 
out of bond, it is far cheaper to buy them at 
the Canteen, than to have them forwarded 
from home. These Canteens are managed by 
the Army, and are dotted all over the country 
inhabited by the British troops. Since they 
have sprung into existence life at the front 
has been far more comfortable and satisfactory 
in France, and people at home are discovering 
that money is the best thing to send out to 
their men. 

Finally, one cold, sunny morning, about half- 
past five, the tank train steamed slowly into 

A , and drew up on a siding. It was not 

possible to begin the work of unloading the 
tanks until night fell. So the tired crews turned 
into the roofless houses which had been pre- 
pared for them, and slept until dusk. When 
darkness fell, as if by magic, the town sprang 
to activity. 



V 

PREPARATIONS FOR THE SHOW 

That night the engines were started up, and 
one by one the tanks crawled off the train. 
Although the day had begun with brilliant 
sunshine, at dusk the snow had begun to fall, 
and by the time the tanks came off, the snow 
was a foot thick on the ground. The tanks 
moved down to the temporary tankdrome 
which had been decided upon near the rail- 
way, and the sponson trucks were towed there. 
The night was spent in fitting on the sponsons 
to the sides of the machines. It was bitterly 
cold. The sleet drove in upon us all night, 
stinging our hands and faces. Everything 
seemed to go wrong. We had the utmost dif- 
ficulty in making the bolt-holes fit, and as each 
sponson weighs about three tons they were not 
easy to move and adjust. We drove ahead 
with the work, knowing that it must be done 
while the darkness lasted. 

61 



Life in a Tank 

Finally, about two hours before dawn broke, 
the last bolt was fastened, and the tanks were 
ready to move. The night was blacker than 
ever as they lumbered out of the tankdrome, 
and were led across the snow to a halfway 
house about four miles from the railhead, and 
an equal distance from the front-line trenches. 
We had not quite reached our destination 
when the darkness began to lift in the east, 
and with feverish energy we pushed ahead, 
through the driving snow. 

Late that afternoon, Talbot was again sent 
ahead with five or six troopers and orderlies to 
a village in the front line. It was necessary 
for us to spend three or four days there before 
the attack commenced, in order to study out 
the vulnerable points in the German line. We 
were to decide also the best routes for the 
tanks to take in coming up to the line, and 
those to be taken later in crossing No Man's 
Land when the "show" was on. We rode along 
across fields denuded of all their trees. The 
country here was utterly unlike that to which 
we had been accustomed in "peace-time trench 

62 



Preparations for the Show 

warfare." This last expression sounds like an 
anomaly, but actually it means the life which 
is led in trenches where one may go along for 
two or three months without attacking. In 
comparison with our existence when we are 
making an offensive, the former seems like life 
in peace times. Hence, the expression. But 
from this it must not be supposed that "peace- 
time trench warfare" is all beer and skittles. 
Quite the contrary. As a matter of fact, dur- 
ing four or five days in the trenches there may 
be as many casualties as during an attack, 
but taking it on an average, naturally the losses 
and dangers are greater when troops go over 
the top. Curiously enough, too, after one has 
been in an attack the front-line trench seems 
a haven of refuge. Gould, who was wounded 
in the leg during a battle on the Somme, 
crawled into a shell-hole. It was a blessed re- 
lief to be lying there, even though the bullets 
were whistling overhead. At first he felt no 
pain, and he wished, vaguely, that he had 
brought a magazine along to read ! All through 
the burning summer day he stayed there, wait- 

63 



Life in a Tank 

ing for the night. As soon as it was dark he 
wriggled back to our trenches, tumbled over 
the parapet of the front-line trench, and nar- 
rowly escaped falling on the point of a bayonet. 
But he never forgets the feeling of perfect 
safety and peace at being back, even in an ex- 
posed trench, with friends. 

The fields across which we rode had been 
ploughed the preceding autumn by the French 
civilians. Later, when the snow had disap- 
peared, we could see where the ground had been 
torn up by the horses of a German riding-school 
of ten days before. On some of the roads the 
ruts and heavy marks of the retreating Ger- 
man transports could still be seen. It was a 
new and exciting experience to ride along a 
road which only two or three days before had 
been traversed by the Germans in a retreat, 
even though they called it a "retirement." 
The thought was very pleasant to men who, 
for the last two years, had been sitting in front 
of the Boche month after month, and who, 
even in an attack, had been unable to find 
traces of foot, hoof, or wheel mark because of 

6 4 



Preparations for the Show 

the all-effacing shell-fire. Here and there were 
places where the Boche had had his watering- 
troughs, and also the traces of scattered huts 
and tents on the ground where the grass, of a 
yellowish green, still showed. The front line of 
defence here was really no front line at all, 
but was merely held as in open warfare by 
outposts, sentry groups, and patrols. 

At night it was the easiest thing in the world 
to lose one's self close up to the line and wan- 
der into the German trenches. In fact, over 
the whole of this country, where every land- 
mark had been destroyed and where owing to 
the weather the roads were little different from 
the soil on each side, a man could lose himself 
and find no person or any sign to give him his 
direction. The usual guide which one might 
derive from the Verey lights going up between 
the lines was here non-existent, as both sides 
kept extremely quiet. Even the guns were 
comparatively noiseless in these days, and 
were a man to find himself at night alone upon 
this ground, which lay between two and three 
miles behind our own lines, the only thing he 

65 



Life in a Tank 

could do would be to lie down and wait for the 
dawn to show him the direction. 

As we rode toward O our only guide 

was a few white houses two or three miles away 
on the edge of the village. The German had 

not evacuated O of his own free will, but 

a certain "Fighting Division" had taken the 
village two days before and driven the Ger- 
man out, when he retired three or four hun- 
dred yards farther to his rear Hindenburg 
Line. The probable reason why he hung on 
to this village, which was really in front of his 
line of advance, was because at the time he 
decided to retire on the Somme, the Hinden- 
burg Line was incomplete. In fact, the Boche 
could still be seen working on his wire and 
trenches. 

We arrived in O at nightfall. Some bat- 
teries were behind the village, and the Germans 
were giving the village and the guns a rather 
nasty time. Unhappily for us, the Boche ar- 
tillery were dropping five-nine's on the road 
which led into the village, and as they seemed 
unlikely to desist, we decided to make a dash 

66 



Preparations for the Show 

for it. The horses were a bit nervous, but be- 
having very well under the trying circum- 
stances. (With us were some limbers bringing 
up ammunition.) Shells were exploding all 
around us. It would never do to stand still. 

The dash up that hundred yards of road 
was an unpleasant experience. As we made 
the rush, the gunners tearing along "hell for 
leather" and the others galloping ahead on 
their plunging horses, we heard the dull whistle 
and the nearer roar of two shells approaching. 
Instinctively we leaned forward. We held our 
breath. When a shell drops near, there is al- 
ways the feeling that it is going to fall on one's 
head. We flattened ourselves out and urged 
our horses to greater speed. The shells exploded 
about thirty yards behind us, killing two gun- 
ners and their mules, while the rest of us scram- 
bled into the village and under cover. 

In the darkness, we found what had once 
been the shop of the village blacksmith, and 
in the forge we tied up our horses. It was bit- 
terly cold. It was either make a fire and trust 
to luck that it would not be observed, or freeze. 

6 7 



Life in a Tank 

We decided on the fire, and in its grateful 
warmth we lay down to snatch the first hours 
of sleep we had had in nearly three days. But 
the German gunners were most inconsiderate, 
and a short time afterward they dropped a 
small barrage down the road. The front of 
our forge was open, and we were obliged to 
flatten ourselves on the ground to prevent the 
flying splinters from hitting us. When this 
diversion was over, we stirred up our fire, and 
made some tea, just in time to offer some to 
a gunner sergeant who came riding up. He 
hitched his horse to one of the posts, and sat 
down with us by the fire. The shell-fire had 
quieted down, and we dozed off, glad of the 
interlude. Suddenly a shell burst close beside us. 
The poor beast, waiting patiently for his rider, 
was hit in the neck by the shrapnel, but hardly 
a sound escaped him. In war, especially, one 
cannot help admiring the stoicism of horses, as 
compared with other animals. One sees ex- 
amples of it on all sides. Tread, for instance, 
on a dog's foot, and he runs away, squealing. 
A horse is struck by a large lump of shrapnel 

63- 



Preparations for the Show 

just under its withers, and the poor brute 
trembles, but makes no sound. Almost the 
only time that horses scream — and the sound 
is horrible — is when they are dying. Then 
they shriek from sheer pain and fear. Strange 
as it may seem, one is often more affected by 
seeing horses struck than when men are killed. 
Somehow they seem so particularly helpless. 

It was during these days at O that 

Talbot discovered Johnson. Johnson was one 
of his orderlies. Although it did not lie in 
the path of his duty, he took the greatest 
delight in doing all sorts of little odd jobs for 
Talbot. So unobtrusive he was about it all, 
that for some time Talbot hardly noticed that 
some one was trying to make him comfort- 
able. When he did, by mutual agreement 
Johnson became his servant and faithful fol- 
lower through everything. The man was per- 
fectly casual and apparently unaffected by the 
heaviest shell-fire. It is absurd to say that a 
man "doesn't mind shell-fire." Everyone 
dislikes it, and gets nervous under it. The man 
who "does n't mind it" is the man who fights 

6 9 



Life in a Tank 

his nervousness and gets such control of him- 
self that he is able to appear as if he were 
unaffected. Between "not minding it" and 
"appearing not to mind it" lie hard-won moral 
battles, increased strength of character, and 
victory over fear. Johnson had accomplished 
this. He preserved an attitude of careless calm, 
and could walk down a road with shells burst- 
ing all around him with a sublime indifference 
that was inspiring. Between him and his of- 
ficer sprang up an extraordinary and lasting 
affection. 

The wretched night in the forge at last came 
to an end, and the next morning we looked 
around for more comfortable billets. We 
selected the cellar of a house in fairly good con- 
dition and prepared to move in, when we dis- 
covered that we were not the first to whom it 
had appealed. Two dead Germans still oc- 
cupied the premises, and when we had disposed 
of the bodies, we took up our residence. Here 
we stayed, going out each day to find the best 
points from which to view No Man's Land, 
which lay in front of the village. With the aid 

70 



Preparations for the Show 

of maps, we planned the best routes for the 
tanks to take when the battle should have be- 
gun. Not a detail was neglected. 

Then something happened to break the mo- 
notony of life. Just back of the village one of 
our batteries was concealed in such a fashion 
that it was impossible to find it from an aero- 
plane. Yet every day, regularly, the battery- 
was shelled. Every night under cover of the 
darkness, the position was changed, and the 
battery concealed as cleverly as before, but to 
no avail. The only solution was that some one 
behind our lines was in communication with 
the Germans, every day. Secrecy was increased. 
Guards were doubled to see that no one slipped 
through the lines. Signals were watched. The 
whole affair was baffling, and yet we could find 
no clue. 

Just in front of the wood where the battery 
was concealed, stood an old farmhouse where a 
genial Frenchwoman lived and dispensed good 
cheer to us. She had none of the men of her own 
family nor any farmhands to help her, but kept 
up the farmwork all alone. Every day, usually 

7i 



Life in a Tank 

in the middle of the morning, she went out to 
the fields behind her house and ploughed, with 
an old white horse drawing the plough. For 
some reason she never ploughed more than one 
or two furrows at a time, and when this was 
done, she drove the white horse back to the 
barn. One day, an officer noticed that a 
German plane hovered over the field while the 
woman was ploughing, and that when she went 
back to the house, the plane shot away. The 
next day the same thing happened. Later in 
the day, the battery received its daily reminder 
from the Boche gunners, as unerringly accurate 
as ever. 

Here was a clue. The solution of the problem 
followed. The woman knew the position of the 
battery, and every day when she went out to 
plough, she drove the white horse up and down, 
making a furrow directly in front of the bat- 
tery. When the men in the German plane saw 
the white horse, they flew overhead, took a 
photograph of the newly turned furrow, and 
turned the photograph over to their gunners. 
The rest was easy. 

72 



Preparations for the Show 

The next day we missed three events which 
had become part of our daily life. The German 
plane no longer hovered in the air. Our battery, 
for the first time in weeks, spent a peaceful day. 
And in the field behind her house, a woman 
with an old white horse no longer made the 
earth ready for the sowing. 

For three days now we had received no ra- 
tions, and were obliged to subsist on the food 
which the Boche had left behind him when he 
fled. Finally, when all our plans were complete, 
we were notified that the point of attack had 

been shifted to N , a village about four 

miles away. This practical joke we thought in 
extremely bad taste, but there was nothing for 
it but to pack up and move as quickly as possi- 
ble. We learned that our troops at N had 

tried twice to break through the German lines 
by bombing. A third attempt was to be made, 
and the tanks were depended upon to open the 
way. Hence the change in our plans. 

Early the next morning we left O , and 

dashed along a road which lay parallel with our 

73 



Life in a Tank 

line, and was under direct observation from the 
German trenches. Owing to the fact, probably, 
that he was not properly settled in his new line, 
the Boche did not bother us much, excepting at 
one place, where we were obliged to make a run 

for it. We arrived at N just after the 

tanks had been brought up. They were hur- 
riedly concealed close up to houses, in cuttings, 
and under trees. 

The show was scheduled to come off the next 
morning at 4.30. That night we gathered at 
Brigade Headquarters and made the final plans. 
Each tank had its objective allotted to it, and 
marked out on the Tank Commander's course. 
Each tank was to go just so far and no farther. 
Talbot and Darwin were detailed to go for- 
ward as far as possible on foot when the battle 
was in progress, and send back messages as to 
how the show was progressing. Talbot also 
was given the task of going out that night to 
make the marks in No Man's Land which 
would guide the tanks in the morning. 

At eleven o'clock, in the bright moonlight, 
Talbot, with Johnson and a couple of orderlies, 
.74 



Preparations for the Show 

started out. They climbed over the front line, 
which was at present a railway embankment, 
crawled into No Man's Land, and set to work. 
Immediately the Boche snipers spotted them 
and bullets began to whistle over their heads. 
Luckily, no one was hit, but a couple of "whizz 
bangs " dropped uncomfortably close. The men 
dropped for cover. Only Johnson stood still, 
. his figure black against the white snow gleam- 
ing in the moonlight. 

The shells continued to fall about them as 
they wriggled back when the work was done. 

As they reached N the tanks were being 

led up toward the line, so that later, under 
cover of the darkness, they might be taken 
farther forward to their starting-points. 



VI 

THE FIRST BATTLE 

At dawn the next morning, the tanks were 
already lined up, sullen and menacing in the 
cold half-light. The men shivered in the biting 
air. One by one the crews entered the machines, 
and one by one the little steel doors closed 
behind them. The engines throbbed, and they 
moved off sluggishly. 

Darwin and Talbot, with their orderlies, 
waited impatiently. The moments just before 
an attack are always the hardest. A few bat- 
teries were keeping up a desultory fire. They 
glanced at their watches. 

"Only a minute to go," said Darwin. "I bet 
the show 's put off or something. Is n't this 
snow damnably cold, though!" 

Suddenly a sixty-pounder in our rear crashed 
out. Then from all sides a deafening roar 
burst forth and the barrage began. As we be- 
came accustomed to the intensity and ear- 

7 6 



The First Battle 

splittingness of the sound, the bark of the 
eighteen-pounders could be faintly distin- 
guished above the dull roar of the eight- 
inches. The sky-line was lit up with thousands 
of flashes, large and small, each one showing, 
for a second, trenches or trees or houses, and 
during this tornado we knew that the "Willies " 
must have started forward on their errand. 

As the barrage lifted and the noise died down 
a little, the first streaks of light began to show 
in the sky, although we could distinguish noth- 
ing. No sign of the infantry or of the tanks 
could be seen. But the ominous sound of 
machine guns and heavy rifle-fire told us that 
the Boche was prepared. 

We could stand this inactivity no longer. 
We trudged forward through the snow, taking 
the broad bands left by the tracks of the busses 
as our guide, the officers leading the way and 
the orderlies behind in single file. 

"The blighter's starting, himself, now," said 
Talbot, as a four-two landed a hundred yards 
away, and pieces of earth came showering down 
on our heads. Then another and another fell, 

77 



Life in a Tank 

each closer than the one before, and instinc- 
tively we quickened our steps, for it is difficult 
to walk slowly through shell-fire. 

The embankment loomed before us, and big 
splotches of black and yellow leaped from its 
surface. The deafening crashes gave us that 
peculiar feeling in the stomach which danger 
alone can produce. We scrambled up the 
crumbling, slaggy sides, and found when we 
reached the top that the sound of the machine 
guns had died away, excepting on the extreme 

left in front of B , where the ordinary tap 

of ones and twos had developed into a sharp 
crackle of tens and twenties. By listening care- 
fully one could feel, rather than hear, the more 
intermittent bursts from the rifles. 

"There's one, sir," shouted one of the order- 
lies. 

"Where?" 

"Half-right and about five hundred yards 
ahead." 

By dint of straining, we discovered a little 
animal — or so it looked — crawling forward on 
the far side of the Hindenburg Line. Already 

78 



The First Battle 

it was doing a left incline in accordance with its 
instructions, so as to enfilade a communication 

trench which ran back to N . The German 

observer had spotted her. Here and there, on 
each side of her, a column of dirt and snow rose 
into the air. But the little animal seemed to 
bear a charmed life. No harm came to her, and 
she went calmly on her way, for all the world 
like a giant tortoise at which one vainly throws 
clods of earth. 

As it grows lighter, we can now see others in 
the distance. One is not moving — is it out of 
action? The only motion on the whole land- 
scape is that of the bursting shells, and the 
tanks. Over the white snow in front of the 
German wire, are dotted little black lumps. 
Some crawl, some move a leg or an arm, and 
some lie quite still. One who has never seen a 
modern battle doubtless forms a picture of 
masses of troops moving forward in splendid 
formation, with cheering voices and gleaming 
bayonets. This is quite erroneous. To an ob- 
server in a post or in a balloon, no concerted 
action is visible at all Here and there a line or 

79 



Life in a Tank 

two of men dash forward and disappear. A sin- 
gle man or a small group of men wriggle across 
the ground. That is all. 

"Well, they have n't got it in the neck as I 
supposed," said Darwin. "Remarkably few 
lying about. Let 's push on." 

"All right," Talbot assented. "If you like." 
We crawled over the top of the embankment 
and continued down the side. About two hun- 
dred yards to the left, we saw one of the tanks, 
with her nose in the air. A little group of three 
or four men were digging around her, frantically. 
We rushed over to them, and found that the 
Old Bird's 'bus had failed to get over a large 
pit which lay in the middle of No Man's Land, 
and was stuck with her tail in the bottom of the 
ditch. Here occurred one of those extraordi- 
nary instances of luck which one notices every- 
where in a modern battle. The tank had been 
there about ten minutes when the German gun- 
ners had bracketed on her, and were dropping 
five-nines, all of them within a radius of sev- 
enty yards of the tank, and yet no one was 
hurt. Finally, by dint of strenuous digging, she 

80 



The First Battle 

started up and pulled herself wearily out of the 
pit. 

Suddenly, Darwin shouted : — 

"Look here, you fellows! What are these 
Boches doing?" 

Looking up, we saw about forty or fifty 
Germans stumbling over their own wire, and 
running toward us as hard as they could go. 
For a moment we thought it was the prelim- 
inary step of a counter-attack, but suddenly we 
discovered that they carried no arms and were 
attempting to run with their hands above their 
heads. At the same time something occurred 
which is always one of the saddest sights in 
war. One hears a great deal about the "horrors 
of war" and the "horrors" of seeing men killed 
on either side of one, but at the time there is 
very little "horror" to it. One simply does n't 
have time to pay any attention to it all. But 
the sad part was that the German machine 
gunners, seeing their men surrendering, opened 
a furious fire on them. There they were, caught 
from behind, and many of them dropped from 
the bullets of their own comrades. 

81 



Life in a Tank 

Twenty or thirty of them came straight on, 
rushed up to the pit where the tank had come 
to grief, and tumbled down into this refuge. 
Evidently, they knew of the British passion 
for souvenirs, for when our men surrounded 
them, the Germans plucked wildly at their own 
shoulder straps as if to entreat their captors 
to take the shoulder straps instead of any- 
thing else! 

We gave two or three of the wounded Ger- 
mans some cigarettes and a drink of water. 
They were then told to find their quickest way 
to the rear. Like other German prisoners we 
had seen, they went willingly enough. German 
discipline obtains even after a man has been 
made a prisoner. He obeys his captors with the 
same docility with which he had previously 
obeyed his own officers. Left to themselves, 
and started on the right road, the prisoner will 
plod along, their N.C.O.'s saluting the English 
officers, and inquiring the way to the concen- 
tration camp. When they find it, they usually 
appear well pleased. 

The Old Bird's tank moved on. 
82 



The First Battle 

"I suppose everything's going all right/' said 
Talbot. "Suppose we move on and see if we 
can get some information." 

"Yes, or some souvenirs," Darwin replied 
with a laugh. 

We pushed on slowly. Three tanks which had 
completed their job were coming back and 
passed us. A little later we met some fellows 
who were slightly wounded and asked them how 
the battle was going. Every story was different. 
The wounded are rarely able to give a correct 
version of any engagement, and we saw that 
no accurate information was to be gleaned 
from these men. 

We had been out now for an hour and a half 
and still had no news to send back to Head- 
quarters. We knew how hard it was for the 
officers behind the lines, who had planned the 
whole show, to sit hour after hour waiting for 
news of their troops. The minutes are like hours. 

"My God, Darwin, look!" Talbot cried. 
"Something's happened to her. She's on fire!" 

In the distance we saw one of our tanks 
stuck in the German wire, which at that point 

83 



Life in a Tank 

was about a hundred yards thick. Smoke was 
belching from every porthole. A shell had regis- 
tered a direct hit, exploding the petrol, and the 
tank was on fire. We dashed forward toward her. 

A German machine gun rattled viciously. 
They had seen us. An instant later, the bullets 
were spattering around us, and we dropped flat. 
One man slumped heavily and lay quite still. 
By inches we crawled forward, nearer and 
nearer to the blazing monster. Another ma- 
chine gun snarled at us, and we slid into a shell- 
hole for protection. Then, after a moment's 
breathing space, we popped out and tried to 
rush again. Another man stopped a bullet. 

It was suicide to go farther. Into another 
shell-hole we fell, and thought things over. We 
decided to send a message, giving roughly the 

news that the Hindenburg Line and N had 

been taken. An orderly was given a message. 
He crawled out of the shell-hole, ran a few 
steps, dropped flat, wriggled along across the 
snow, sprang to his feet, ran another few steps, 
and so on until we lost sight of him. 

A moment or two later we started across the 

8 4 



The First Battle 

snow in a direction parallel with the lines. Be- 
hind an embankment we came across a little 
group of Australians at an impromptu dressing- 
station. Some of them were wounded and the 
others were binding up their wounds. We 
watched them for a while and started on again. 
We had gone about fifty yards when a shell 
screeched overhead. We turned and saw it 
land in the middle of the group we had just left. 
Another shell burst close to us and huge clods 
of earth struck us in the face and in the stom- 
ach, knocking us flat and blinding us for the 
moment. A splinter struck Talbot on his tin 
hat, grazing his skin. Behind us one of the 
orderlies screamed and we rushed back to him. 
He had been hit below the knee and his leg was 
nearly severed. We tied him up and managed 
to get him back to the Australian aid-post. 
Two of the original four stretcher-bearers had 
been blown up a few minutes before. But the 
remaining two were carrying on with their work 
as though nothing had happened. Here he was 
bandaged and started on his way for the dress- 
ing-station. 

85 



Life in a Tank 

Far across the snow, we saw three more tanks 
plodding back toward the rear. Little by little, 
we gained ground until we reached a more 
sheltered area where we could make greater 
speed. We were feverishly anxious to know the 
fate of the crew of the burning tank. "Whose 
tank was it?" was on every tongue. We met 
other wounded men being helped back; those 
with leg wounds were being supported by others 
less seriously wounded. They could tell us noth- 
ing. They had been with the infantry and only 
knew that two tanks were right on the other 
side of the village. 

A moment or two later, Talbot started run- 
ning toward two men, one of whom was sup- 
porting the other. The wounded man proved 
to be the Sergeant of the tank we had seen on 
fire. We hurried up to him. He was hurt in 
the leg. So, instead of firing questions at him, 
we kept quiet and accompanied him back to 
the dressing-station. 

Later we heard the tragic news that it was 
Gould's tank that had burned up. None of us 
talked much about it. It did not seem real. 

86 



The First Battle 

They had got stuck in the German wire. A 
crump had hit them and fired the petrol tank. 
That was the end. Two men, the Sergeant and 
another, escaped from the tank. The others 
perished with it. We tried to comfort each 
other by repeated assurances that they must 
all have lost consciousness quickly from the 
fumes of the petrol before they suffered from 
fire. But it was small consolation. Every one 
had liked Gould and every one would miss him. 

We waited at Brigade Headquarters for the 
others to return. A Tank Commander from 
another Company was brought in, badly 
wounded and looking ghastly, but joking with 
every one, as they carried him along on a 
stretcher. His tank had been knocked out and 
they had saved their guns and gone on with 
the infantry. He had been the last to leave the 
tank, and as he had stepped out to the ground, 
a shell exploded directly beneath him, taking 
off both of his legs below the knee. 

The last of the tanks waddled wearily in and 
the work of checking-up began. All were ac- 
counted for but two. Their fate still remains 

87 



Life in a Tank 

a secret. Our theory was that they had gone 
too far ahead and had entered the village in 
back of the German lines; that the infantry 
had not been able to keep up with them, and 
that they had been captured. Two or three 
days afterwards an airman told us that he had 
seen, on the day of the battle, two tanks far 
ahead of the infantry and that they appeared 
to be stranded. Weeks later we attacked at the 
point where the tanks had been, and on some 
German prisoners whom we took, we found 
several photographs of these identical tanks. 
Then one day, when we had stopped wonder- 
ing about them, a Sergeant in our Company 
received a letter from one of the crew of the 
missing machines, saying that he was a prisoner 
in Germany. But of the officers we have never 
heard to this day. 

We sat around wearily, waiting for the motor 
lorries which were to take some of us back to 

B . Years seemed to have been crowded 

into the hours that had elapsed. Talbot glanced 
at his watch. It was still only eight o'clock 
in the morning. Again he experienced the feel- 

88 



The First Battle 

ing of incredulity that comes to one who has 
had much happen in the hours between dawn 
and early morning and who discovers that the 
day has but just begun. He had thought it 
must be three o'clock in the afternoon, at least. 
The lorries arrived eventually, and took those 

who had no tanks, back to B . The others 

brought the " Willies " in by the evening. 



VII 

THE SECOND BATTLE 

Ten days had now elapsed since that day when 

we had gone back to B with the officers and 

men who had survived. We had enjoyed every 
minute of our rest and once more were feeling 
fit. The remainder of the Company had been 
divided up into crews. The "Willies" them- 
selves had had the best of care and attention. 

Most important of all, to the childish minds 
of that part of the British Army which we rep- 
resented, we had given another concert which 
had been an even greater success than the first. 
The Old Bird and Borwick had excelled them- 
selves. We were convinced that something was 
wrong with a Government that would send two 
such artists to the front! They should be at 
home, writing "words and music" that would 
live forever. 

Toward the end of the week, plans for an- 
other attack were arranged. This time it was 

90 



The Second Battle 

to take place at C , about five miles north 

of N . We were told that this was to be a 

"big show" at last. Part of the Hindenburg 
Line had been taken, and part was still in the 
hands of the enemy. It had been decided, 
therefore, that this sector of the line, and the 
village behind it, must be captured. Our share 
in the business consisted of a few tanks to work 
with the infantry. Two of us went up three 
days before to arrange the plans with the Divi- 
sional Commander. We wandered up into the 
Hindenburg Line as close as we could get to 
the Boche, to see what the ground was like, and 
to decide if possible on the routes for the tanks. 
In the line were innumerable souvenirs. We 
found the furniture that the Germans had taken 
out of the villages on their retirement, and had 
used to make their line more comfortable. 

We found, too, an extraordinary piece of en- 
gineering. A tunnel about ten miles long ran 
underneath the whole of the Hindenburg Line. 
It was about thirty or forty feet down, and had 
been dug, we heard, by Russian prisoners. The 
tunnel was about six feet wide and about five 

9i 



Life in a Tank 

feet high. It had been roughly balked in with 
timber, and at every twenty yards, a shaft led 
out of the tunnel up into the trench. Borwick 
found a large mirror which he felt could not be 
wasted under the circumstances. He could not 
resist its charm, so he started lugging it back 
the six miles to camp. It was very heavy and 
its charm had decreased greatly by the time 
he reached camp and found that no one could 
make any use of it. 

The day of the attack was still undecided, 
and in order to be quite ready when it should 
come off, we left B with the tanks one eve- 
ning and took them up to Saint-L , a little 

place about three thousand yards away from 
the Hindenburg Line. Here we staged them 
behind a railway embankment, underneath a 
bridge that had been partially blown up. This 
was the same embankment, as a matter of fact, 
behind which, four or five miles away, the Aus- 
tralian dressing-station had been established in 
the last battle. 

Here we spent two or three days tuning up 
the machines, and many of our leisure moments 

92 



The Second Battle 

in watching a howitzer battery which was just 
beside us. This was fascinating. If you stand 
by the gun when it is fired, you can see the shell 
leave the muzzle, and watch the black mass 
shoot its seven or eight thousand yards until 
it becomes a small speck and finally vanishes 
just before it hits the ground. 

We also made an interesting collection of 
German and English shell-cases. These cases 
are made of brass, and the four-fives, espe- 
cially, in the opinion of some people, make very 
nice rose-bowls when they are polished, with 
wire arranged inside to hold the blossoms. 
Weird music could be heard issuing from our 
dugout at times, when we gave an impromptu 
concert, by putting several of these shell-cases 
on a log of wood and playing elaborate tunes 
on them with a bit of stone. 

All this merry-making came to an end, though. 
One day we received word that the attack was 
to come off the next morning. Then began the 
preparations in earnest and the day went with 
a rush. At this part of the Hindenburg Line, it 
was very easy to lose one's way, especially at 

93 



Life in a Tank 

night. The tanks were scheduled to start 
moving up at ten o'clock. Talbot and the 
Old Bird, with several men, set out at about 
eight, and arranged for marks to guide the 
machines. 

We had just reached a part of the Hinden- 
burg Line which was now in our possession, and 
were near an ammunition dump, when shells 
began to fall around us. They were not near 
enough to do us any harm, and we continued our 
work, when one dropped into the ammunition 
dump and exploded. In an instant the whole 
dump was alight. It was like some terrible 
and giant display of pyrotechnics. Gas shells, 
Verey lights, and stink bombs filled the air 
with their nauseous odors. Shells of all sizes 
blew up and fell in steely splinters. The noise 
was deafening. Cursing our luck, we waited 
until it died down into a red, smouldering 
mass, and then edged up cautiously to con- 
tinue our work. By this time, Borwick's tank 
came up, and he emerged, with a broad smile 
on his face. 

"Having a good time?" he asked genially. 
94 



The Second Battle 

There was a frozen silence, excepting for his 
inane laughter. He made a few more irritating 
remarks which he seemed to think were very 
funny, and then he disappeared inside his tank 
and prepared to follow us. We had gone ahead 
a couple of hundred yards when we heard bombs 
exploding, and looking back we saw the tank 
standing still, with fireworks going off under 
one of her tracks. Presently the noise ceased, 
and after waiting a moment we strolled back. 
As we reached the tank, Borwick and the crew 
came tumbling out, making the air blue with 
their language. They had run over a box of 
bombs, the only thing that had survived the 
fire in the ammunition dump, and one of the 
tracks was damaged. To repair it meant sev- 
eral hours' hard work in the cold in unpleasant 
proximity to the still smouldering dump. Over 
Talbot's face spread a broad smile. 

"Having a good time?" he asked pleasantly 
of Borwick. 

Infuriated growls were his only answer. He 
moved on with his men, while Borwick and his 
crew settled down to work. 

95 



Life in a Tank 

The night was fortunately dark. They went 
slowly forward and brought the route almost 
up to within calling distance of the Germans. 
The Verey lights, shattering the darkness over 
No Man's Land, did not disclose them to the 
enemy. Suddenly, a Boche machine gun me- 
chanically turned its attentions toward the place 
where they were working. With a tightening 
of every muscle, Talbot heard the slow whisper 
of the gun. As it turned to sweep the inter- 
vening space between the lines, the whisper 
rose to a shirring hiss. The men dropped to the 
ground, flattening themselves into the earth. 
But Talbot stood still. Now, if ever, was the 
time when an example would count. If they 
all dropped to the ground every time a machine 
gun rattled, the job would never be done. So, 
hands in his pockets, but with awful "wind 
up," he waited while the soft patter of the 
bullets came near and the patter quickened into 
rain. As it reached him, the rain became a fierce 
torrent, stinging the top of the parapet behind 
them as the bullets tore by viciously a few 
inches above his head. Then as it passed, it 

9 6 



The Second Battle 

dropped into a patter once more and finally 
dropped away in a whisper. Talbot suddenly 
realized that his throat was aching, but that 
he was untouched by the storm. The men 
slowly got to their feet and continued their 
work in silence. Although the machine gun con- 
tinued to spatter bullets near them all through 
the hours they were working, not once again 
did the men drop when they heard the whisper 
begin. The job was finally done and they filed 
wearily back. 

The attack was timed to come off at dawn. 
An hour before, while it was still as black as 
pitch, the tanks moved again for their final 
starting-point. McKnutt's machine was the 
first to go. 

"Cheero, McKnutt," we said as he clam- 
bered in. "Good luck!" 

The men followed, some through the top and 
some through the side. The doors and port- 
holes were closed, and in a moment the exhaust 
began to puff merrily. The tank crawled for- 
ward and soon disappeared into the blackness. 

She had about fifteen hundred yards to go, 
97 



Life in a Tank 

parallel with the Hindenburg Line, and several 
trenches to cross before coming up with the 
enemy. We had planned that the tanks would 
take about three quarters of an hour to reach 
their starting-point, and that soon after they 
arrived there, the show would begin. 

Since it was still dark and the attack had 
not commenced, McKnutt and his first driver 
opened the windows in front of them. They 
looked out into impenetrable gloom. It was 
necessary to turn their headlights on, and with 
this help, they crawled along a little more se- 
curely. A signal from the driver, and they got 
into top gear. She bumped along, over shell- 
holes and mine-craters at the exhilarating speed 
of about four miles an hour, and then arrived 
at the first trench to be crossed. It was about 
ten feet wide with high banks on each side. 

"One up!" signals the driver. The gears- 
men get into first gear, and the tank tilts back 
as it goes up one side of the trench. Suddenly 
she starts tipping over, and the driver takes 
out his clutch and puts on his brake hard. 
McKnutt yells out, "Hold tight!" and the 

98 



The Second Battle 

tank slides gently down with her nose in the 
bottom of the trench. The driver lets in his 
clutch again, the tank digs her nose into the 
other side and pulls herself up slowly, while 
her tail dips down into the bottom of the 
trench. Then comes the great strain as she 
pulls herself bodily out of the trench until she 
balances on the far side. 

It was now no longer safe to run with lights. 
They were snapped off. Once more the dark- 
ness closed around them, blacker than ever. 
They could no longer find their route, and Mc- 
Knutt jumped out, walking ahead with the 
tank lumbering along behind. Twice he lost 
his way and they were obliged to wait until 
he found it again. Then, to his intense relief, 
the moon shone out with a feeble light. It was 
just enough to illumine faintly the ground be- 
fore them and McKnutt reentered the tank, 
and started on. 

Their route ran close to the sides of an old 
quarry and they edged along cautiously. Mc- 
Knutt, with his eyes glued to the front, decided 
that they must have already passed the end of 

99 



Life in a Tank 

the quarry. That would mean that they were 
not far from the spot where they were to wait 
for the signal to go into action. The moon had 
again disappeared behind the clouds, but he 
did not consider it worth while to get out again. 
The journey would be over in a few minutes. 

Suddenly, his heart took a great dive and 
he seemed to stop breathing. He felt the tank 
balance ever so slightly. Staring with aching 
eyes through the portholes, he saw that they 
were on the edge of the old quarry, with a forty- 
foot drop down its steep sides before them. 
The black depth seemed bottomless. The tank 
was slipping over. When she shot down they 
would all be killed from concussion alone. 

His heart was pounding so that he could 
hardly speak. But the driver, too, had seen 
the danger. 

"For God's sake, take out your clutch and 
put your brake on! " McKnutt yelled, his voice 
almost drowned by the rattle and roar inside 
the tank. The man kept his head. As the tail 
of the tank started tipping up, he managed 
somehow with the brakes to hold her on the 

ioo 



The Second Battle 

edge. For a second or two, she swayed there. 
She seemed to be unable to decide whether to 
kill them or not. The slightest crumbling of 
the earth or the faintest outside movement 
against the tank would precipitate them over 
the edge. The brakes would not hold them for 
long. Then the driver acted. Slowly he put his 
gears in reverse, keeping the brake on hard un- 
til the engine had taken up the strain. Slowly 
she moved back until her tail bumped on the 
ground, and she settled down. Neither Mc- 
Knutt nor his driver spoke. They pushed back 
their tin hats and wiped their foreheads. 

McKnutt glanced back at the men in the 
rear of the tank. They, of course, had been 
unable to see out, and had no idea of what they 
had escaped. Now that the danger was passed, 
he felt an unreasonable annoyance that none 
of them would ever know what he and the 
driver had gone through in those few moments. 
Then the feeling passed, he signalled, "Neutral 
left," the gearsman locked his left track, and 
the tank swung over, passing safely by the per- 
ilous spot. 

101 



Life in a Tank 

They settled down now to a snail's pace, 
shutting off their engine, as the Germans could 
not be more than one hundred and fifty or two 
hundred yards away. Running at full speed, 
the engine would have been heard by them. In 
a few moments, they arrived at their appointed 
station. McKnutt glanced at his watch. They 
had only a few moments to wait. The engine 
was shut off and they stopped. 

The heat inside the tank was oppressive. 
McKnutt and James opened the top, and 
crawled out, the men following. They looked 
around. The first streaks of light were begin- 
ning to show in the sky. A heavy silence hung 
over everything — the silence that always 
precedes a bombardment. Presumably, only 
the attacking forces feel this. Even the des- 
ultory firing seems to have faded away. All 
the little ordinary noises have ceased. It is a 
sickening quiet, so loud in itself that it makes 
one's heart beat quicker. It is because one is 
listening so intensely for the guns to break out 
that all other sounds have lost their signifi- 
cance. One seems to have become all ears — 

102 



The Second Battle 

to have no sense of sight or touch or taste or 
smell. All seem to have become merged in 
the sense of hearing. The very air itself seems 
tense with listening. Only the occasional rat- 
tle of a machine gun breaks the stillness. Even 
this passes unnoticed. 

Slowly the minute-hand crept round to the 
half-hour, and the men slipped back into their 
steel home. Doors were bolted and portholes 
shut, save for the tiny slits in front of officer 
and driver, through which they peered. The 
engine was ready to start. The petrol was on 
and flooding. They waited quietly. Their heavy 
breathing was the only sound. The minute- 
hand reached the half-hour. 
I With the crash and swish of thousands of 
shells, the guns smashed the stillness. In- 
stantly, the flash of their explosion lit up the 
opposite trenches. For a fraction of a second 
the thought came to McKnutt how wonderful 
it was that man could produce a sound to which 
Nature had no equal, either in violence or 
intensity. But the time was for action and not 
for reflection. 

103 



Life in a Tank 

"Start her up!" yelled out McKnutt. ' 

But the engine would not fire. 

"What the devil's the matter?" cried James. 

A bit of tinkering with the carburetor, and the 
engine purred softly. Its noise was drowned in 
the pandemonium raging around them. James 
let in the clutch, and the monster moved for- 
ward on her errand of destruction. 

Although it was not light enough to distin- 
guish forms, the flashes of the shell-fire and 
the bursts from the shrapnel lit up that part 
of the Hindenburg Line that lay on the other 
side of the barrier. One hundred and fifty 
yards, and the tank was almost on top of the 
barricade. Bombs were exploding on both 
sides. McKnutt slammed down the shutters 
of the portholes in front of him and his driver. 
"Bullets," he said shortly. 

"One came through, I think, sir," James 
replied. With the portholes shut, there was no 
chance for bullets to enter now through the 
little pin-points directly above the slits in the 
shutters. In order to see through these, it is 
necessary to place one's eye directly against 

104 



The Second Battle 

the cold metal. They are safe, for if a bullet 
does hit them, it cannot come through, al- 
though it may stop up the hole. 
I Suddenly a dull explosion was heard on the 
roof of the tank. 

"They're bombing us, sir! " cried one of the 
gunners. McKnutt signalled to him, and he 
opened fire from his sponson. They plunged 
along, amid a hail of bullets, while bombs 
exploded all around them. 

McKnutt and James, with that instinctive 
sense of direction which comes to men who 
control these machines, felt that they were 
hovering on the edge of the German trench. 
Then a sudden flash from the explosion of a 
huge shell lit up the ground around them, and 
they saw four or five gray-clad figures, about 
ten yards away, standing on the parapet hys- 
terically hurling bombs at the machine. They 
might as well have been throwing pebbles. 
Scornfully the tank slid over into the wide 
trench and landed with a crash in the bottom. 
For a moment she lay there without moving. 
The Germans thought she was stuck. They 

105 



Life in a Tank 

came running along thinking to grapple with 
her. But they never reached her, for at once 
the guns from both sides opened fire and the 
Germans disappeared. 

The huge machine dragged herself up the 
steep ten-foot side of the trend:. As she neared 
the top, it seemed as if the e :..; "ne would not 
take the final pull. James toe. out his clutch, 
put his brake on hard, and raced the engine. 
Then letting the clutch in with a jerk, the tank 
pulled herself right on to the point of balance, 
and tipped slowly over what had been the 
parapet of the German position. 

Now she was in the wire which lay in front 
of the trench. McKnutt signalled back, " Swing 
round to the left," parallel to the lay of the 
line. A moment's pause, and she moved for- 
ward relentlessly, crushing everything in her 
path, and sending out a stream of bullets 
from every turret to any of the enemy who 
dared to show themselves above the top of the 
trench. 

At the same time our own troops, who had 
waited behind the barricade to bomb their way 

1 06 



The Second Battle 

down, from traverse to traverse, rushed over the 
heap of sandbags, tangled wire, wood, and dead 
men which barred their way. The moral effect 
of the tank's success, and the terror which she 
inspired, cheered our infantry on to greater 
efforts. The tank crew were, at the time, un- 
aware of the infantry's action, as none of our 
own men could be seen. The only indication 
of the fact was the bursting of the bombs which 
gradually moved from fire bay to fire bay. 

The Corporal touched McKnutt on the arm. 

"I don't believe our people are keeping up 
with us, sir," he said. "They seem to have 
been stopped about thirty yards back." 

"All right," McKnutt answered. "We'll 
turn round." 

McKnutt and James opened their portholes 
to obtain a clearer view. Five yards along to 
the left, a group of Germans were holding 
up the advancing British. They had evidently 
prepared a barricade in case of a possible 
bombing attack on our part, and this obstacle, 
together with a fusillade of bombs which met 
them, prevented our troops from pushing on. 

107 



Life in a Tank 

McKnutt seized his gun and pushed it through 
the mounting, but found that he could not 
swing round far enough to get an aim on the 
enemy. But James was in a better position. 
He picked the gray figures off, one by one, until 
the bombing ceased and our own men jumped 
over the barricade and came down among the 
dead and wounded Germans. 

Then a sudden and unexplainable sense of 
disaster caused McKnutt to look round. One 
of his gunners lay quite still on the floor of the 
tank, his back against the engine, and a stream 
of blood trickling down his face. The Corporal 
who stood next to him pointed to the sights in 
the turret and then to his forehead, and Mc- 
Knutt realized that a bullet must have slipped 
in through the small space, entering the man's 
head as he looked along the barrel of his gun. 
There he lay, along one side of the tank between 
the engine and the sponson. The Corporal tried 
to get in position to carry on firing with his own 
gun, but the dead body impeded his movements. 

There was only one thing to do. The Cor- 
poral looked questioningly at McKnutt and 

1 08 



The Second Battle 

pointed to the body. The officer nodded 
quickly, and the left gearsman and the Corporal 
dragged the body and propped it up against the 
door. Immediately the door flew open. The 
back of the corpse fell down and half the body 
lay hanging out, with its legs still caught on 
the floor. With feverish haste they lifted the 
legs and threw them out, but the weight of the 
body balanced them back again through the 
still open door. The men were desperate. With 
a tremendous heave they turned the dead man 
upside down, shoved the body out and slammed 
the door shut. They were just in time. A bomb 
exploded directly beneath the sponson, where 
the dead body had fallen. To every man in the 
tank came a feeling of swift gratitude that 
the bombs had caught the dead man and not 
themselves. 

They ploughed across another trench with- 
out dropping into the bottom, for it was only 
six feet wide. Daylight had come by now and 
the enemy was beginning to find that his brave 
efforts were of no avail against these monsters 
of steel. 

109 



Life in a Tank 

All this time the German guns had not been 
silent. McKnutt's tank crunched across the 
ground amid a furious storm of flying earth and 
splinters. The strain was beginning to be felt. 
Although one is protected from machine-gun 
fire in a tank, the sense of confinement is, at 
times, terrible. One does not know what is hap- 
pening outside his little steel prison. One often 
cannot see where the machine is going. The 
noise inside is deafening; the heat terrific. 
Bombs shatter on the roof and on all sides. 
Bullets spatter savagely against the walls. 
There is an awful lack of knowledge; a feeling 
of blind helplessness at being cooped up. One 
is entirely at the mercy of the big shells. If a 
shell hits a tank near the petrol tank, the men 
may perish by fire, as did Gould, without a 
chance of escape. Going down with your ship 
seems pleasant compared to burning up with 
your tank. In fighting in the open, one has, at 
least, air and space. 

McKnutt, however, was lucky. They could 
now see the sunken road before them which 
was their objective. Five-nines were dropping 

no 



The Second Battle 

around them now. It was only a matter of mo- 
ments, it seemed, when they would be struck. 

"Do you think we shall make it ? " McKnutt 
asked James. 

"We may get there, but shall we get back? 
That's the question, sir." 

McKnutt did not answer. They had both 
had over two years' experience of the accuracy 
of the German artillery. And they did not 
believe in miracles. But they had their orders. 
They must simply do their duty and trust to 
luck. 

They reached the sunken road. The tank was 
swung around. Their orders were to reach their 
objective and remain there until the bombers 
arrived. McKnutt peered out. No British were 
in sight, and he snapped his porthole shut. 
Grimly they settled down to wait. 

The moments passed. Each one seemed as 
if it would be their last. Would the infantry 
never come ? Would there be any sense in just 
sitting there until a German shell annihilated 
them if the infantry never arrived ? Had they 
been pushed back by a German rush? Should 

in 



Life in a Tank 

he take it upon himself to turn back? Mc- 
Knutt's brain whirled. 

Then, after hours, it seemed, of waiting, 
around the corner of a traverse, he saw one of 
the British tin hats. Nothing in the world 
could have been a happier sight. A great wave 
of relief swept over him. Three or four more 
appeared. Realizing that they, too, had reached 
their objective, they stopped and began to 
throw up a rough form of barricade. More men 
poured in. The position was consolidated, and 
there was nothing more for the tank to do. 

They swung round and started back. Two 
shells dropped about twenty yards in front 
of them. For a moment McKnutt wondered 
whether it would be well to change their di- 
rection. "No, we'll keep right on and chance 
it," he said aloud. The next moment a tre- 
mendous crash seemed to lift the tank off the 
ground. Black smoke and flying particles filled 
the tank. McKnutt and James looked around 
expecting to see the top of the machine blown 
off. But nothing had happened inside, and no 
one was injured. Although shells continued to 

112 



The Second Battle 

fall around them and a German machine gun 
raged at them, they got back safely. 

Brigade Headquarters, where McKnutt re- 
ported, was full of expectancy. Messages were 
pouring in over the wires. The men at the tele- 
phones were dead beat, but cool and collected. 

"Any news of the other 'busses ? " McKnutt 
asked eagerly. The Buzzers shook their heads 
wearily. He rushed up to a couple of men who 
were being carried to a dressing-station. 

"Do you fellows know how the tanks made 
out?" he asked. 

One of them had seen two of the machines on 
the other side of the German line, he said. In 
answer to the questions which were fired at 
him he could only say that the tanks had pushed 
on beyond the German front line. 

Then on the top of the hill, against the sky- 
line, they saw a little group of three or four 
men. James recognized them. 

"Why, there's Sergeant Browning and Mr. 
Borwick, sir," he said. "What's happened to 
their tank, I wonder?" He and McKnutt 
hurried over to meet them. 

ii3 



Life in a Tank 

Borwick smiled coolly. 

"Hullo!" he said in his casual manner. 

"What's happened to your 'bus?" "What 
did you do?" was fired at him. 

"We got stuck in the German wire, and the 
infantry got ahead of us," he said. "We pushed 
on, and fell into a nest of three machine guns. 
They could n't hurt us, of course, and the Boches 
finally ran away. We knocked out about ten 
of them, and just as we were going on and were 
already moving, we suddenly started twisting 
around in circles. What do you think had hap- 
pened ? A trench mortar had got us full in one 
of our tracks, and the beastly thing broke. So 
we all tumbled out and left her there." 

"Didn't you go on with the infantry?" 
asked McKnutt. 

"No. They'd reached their objective by that 
time," Borwick replied, "so we saved the tank 
guns, and I pinched the clock. Then we strolled 
back, and here we are," he concluded. 

Talbot joined the group as he finished. 

"But where 's the rest of your crew? "he asked. 

Borwick said quietly: "Jameson and Cor- 
114 



The Second Battle 

poral Fiske got knocked out coming back." 
He lit a cigarette and puffed at it. 

There was silence for a moment. 

Then Talbot said, "Bad luck; have you got 
their pay-books?" 

"No, I forgot them," Borwick answered. 

But his Sergeant handed over the little brown 
books which were the only tangible remains of 
two men who had gone into action that morn- 
ing. The pay-books contained two or three 
pages on which were jotted down their pay, 
with the officer's signature. They had been 
used as pocket-books, and held a few odd letters 
which the men had received a few days before. 
Talbot had often been given the pay-books of 
men in his company who were killed, but he 
never failed to be affected when he discovered 
the letters and little trifles which had meant so 
much to the men who had carried them, and 
which now would mean so much to those whom 
they had left behind. 

In silence they went back to McKnutt's tank 
and sat down, waiting for news. Scraps of in- 
formation were beginning to trickle in. 

ii5 



Life in a Tank 

"Have gained our objective in X Wood. 
Have not been counter-attacked." 

"Cannot push on owing to heavy machine- 
gun fire from C ." 

"Holding out with twenty men in trench 
running north from Derelict Wood. Can I have 
reinforcements?" 

These were the messages pouring in from 
different points on the lines of attack. Some- 
times the messages came in twos and threes. 
Sometimes there were minutes when only a 
wild buzzing could be heard and the men at 
the telephones tried to make the buzzing in- 
telligible. 

The situation cleared up finally, however. 
Our troops had, apparently, gained their ob- 
jectives along the entire line to the right. On 
the left the next Brigade had been hung up 
by devastating machine-gun fire. As McKnutt 
and Talbot waited around for news and fresh 
orders, one of their men hurried down and 
saluted. 

He brought the news that the other three 
tanks had returned, having reached their ob- 

116 



The Second Battle 

jectives. Two had but little opposition and the 
infantry had found no difficulty in gaining their 
points of attack. The third tank, however, had 
had three men wounded at a "pill-box." These 
pill-boxes are little concrete forts which the 
German had planted along his line. The walls 
are of ferro concrete, two to three feet thick. 
As the tank reached the pill-box, two Germans 
slipped out of the rear door. Three of the tank 
crew clambered down and got inside the pill- 
box. In a moment the firing from inside ceased, 
and presently the door flew open. Two British 
tank men, dirty and grimy, escorting ten Ger- 
mans, filed out. The Germans had their hands 
above their heads, and when ordered to the 
rear they went with the greatest alacrity. One 
of the three Englishmen was badly wounded; 
the other two were only slightly injured, but 
they wandered down to the dressing-station, 
with the hope that "Blighty" would soon 
welcome them. 

Although Talbot had his orders to hold the 
tanks in readiness in case they were needed, no 
necessity arose, and after a few hours' waiting, 

117 



Life in a Tank 

the Major sent word to him to start the tanks 
back to the embankment, there to be kept for 
the next occasion. Better still, the men were to 

be taken back to B in the motor lorries, 

just as they had been after the first battle. 
Water, comparative quiet, blankets, — these 
were the luxuries that lay before them. 

As he sat crowded into the swaying motor 
lorry that lurched back along the shell-torn 

road to B , Talbot slipped his hand into 

his pocket. He touched a cheque-book, a pack- 
age of cigarettes, and a razor. Then he smiled. 
They were the final preparations he had made 
that morning before he went into action. After 
all he had not needed them, but one never could 
tell, one might be taken prisoner. One needed 
no such material preparations against the pos- 
sibility of death, but a prisoner — that was 
different. 

The cheque-book had been for use in a pos- 
sible gray prison camp in the land of his ene- 
mies. Cheques would some time or other reach 
his English bank and his people would know 
that he was, at least, alive. The cigarettes were 

118 



The Second Battle 

to keep up his courage in the face of whatever 

disaster might befall him. 

I And the razor? Most important of all. 

The razor was to keep, bright and untar- 
nished, the traditions and prestige of the 
British Army! 



VIII 

REST AND DISCIPLINE 

We stayed in that region of the Front for a few 
more weeks, preparing for any other task that 
might be demanded of us. One day the Bat- 
talion received its orders to pack up, to load 
the tanks that were left over, and to be ready 
for its return to the district in which we had 
spent the winter. 

We entrained on a Saturday evening at A , 

and arrived at St.-P at about ten o'clock 

on Sunday night. From there a twelve-mile 
march lay before us to our old billets in B — — . 
As may well be imagined, the men, though 
tired, were in high spirits. We simply ate up 
the distance, and the troops disguised their 
fatigue by singing songs. There were two 
which appeared to be favorites on this occa- 
sion. 

One, to the tune of "The Church's One 
Foundation," ran as follows : — 

120 



Rest and Discipline 

"We are Fred Karno's 1 Army, 
The ragtime A.S.C., 2 
We cannot work, we do not fight, 
So what ruddy use are we? 
And when we get to Berlin, 
The Kaiser he will say, 
Hoch, hoch, mein Gott! 
What a ruddy rotten lot, 
Is the ragtime A.S.C." 

The other was a refrain to the tune of a 
Salvation Army hymn, "When the Roll is 
called up Yonder": — 

"When you wash us in the water, 
That you washed your dirty daughter, 
Oh! then we will be much whiter! 
We'll be whiter than the whitewash on the wall." 

Eventually the companies arrived in the 
village at all hours of the morning. No one 
was up. We saw that the men received their 
meals, which had been prepared by the cooks 
who had gone ahead in motor lorries. They 
did not spend much time over the food, for in 
less than half an hour "K" billets — the same 
Hospice de Ste. Berthe — were perfectly quiet. 

1 A late, third-rate English pantomime producer. 

2 Stands for Army Service Corps, and its equivalent in 
the American Army is the Quartermaster's Corps. 

121 



Life in a Tank 

We then wandered away with our servants, to 
be met at each of our houses by hastily clad 
landladies, with sleep in their eyes and smok- 
ing lamps or guttering candles in their hands. 

The next morning the Company paraded at 
half-past nine, and the day was spent in re- 
forming sections, in issuing new kits to the 
men, and in working the rosters for the various 
courses. On Tuesday, just as breakfast was 
starting, an orderly brought a couple of memo- 
randums from Battalion Orderly Room for 
McKnutt and Borwick. 

No one watched them read the chits, but 
Talbot, glancing up from his plate, saw a look 
on Borwick's face. It was a look of the purest 

joy. 

"What is it?" he said. 

"Leave, my God!" replied Borwick; "and 
McKnutt 's got it too." 

"When are you going? To-day?" shouted 
the Old Bird. 

"Yes; there's a car to take us to the station 
in a quarter of an hour." 

They both left their unfinished breakfasts 
122 



Rest and Discipline 

and tore off to their billets. There it was but 
a matter of moments to throw a few things into 
their packs. No one ever takes any luggage 
when going on leave. They tore back to the 
mess to leave instructions for their servants, 
and we strolled out en masse to see the lucky 
fellows off. 

The box-body drew away from where we 
were standing. We watched it grow smaller 
and smaller down the long white road, and 
turned back with regrets and pleasure in our 
hearts. With regrets, that we ourselves were 
not the lucky ones, and knowing that for some 
of us leave would never come; with pleasure, 
because one is always glad that a few of the 
deserving reap a small share of their reward. 

Then, strolling over to the Parade Ground, 
we heard the "Five Minutes" sounding. Some 
dashed off to get their Sam Brownes, others 
called for their servants to wipe a few flecks of 
dust from their boots and puttees. 

When the "Fall In" began, the entire Com- 
pany was standing "At Ease" on the Parade 
Ground. As the last note of the call sounded, 

123 



Life in a Tank 

the whole parade sprang to "Attention," and 
the Major, who had been standing on the edge 
of the field, walked forward to inspect. 

Every morning was spent in this manner, 
except for those who had special courses to 
follow. We devoted all our time and attention 
to "Forming Fours" in as perfect a manner as 
possible; to saluting with the greatest accuracy 
and fierceness; and to unwearying repetition 
of every movement and detail, until machine- 
like precision was attained. 

All that we were doing then is the very 
foundation and essence of good discipline. Dis- 
cipline is the state to which a man is trained, 
in order that under all circumstances he shall 
carry out without secondary reasoning any 
order that may be given him by a superior. 
There is nothing of a servile nature in this form 
of obedience. Each man realizes that it is for 
the good of the whole. By placing his implicit 
confidence in the commands of one of a higher 
rank than his own, he gives an earnest of his 
ability to himself command at some future 
time. It is but another proof of the old adage, 

124 



Rest and Discipline 

that the man who obeys least is the least fitted 
to command. 

When this war started, certain large forma- 
tions, with the sheer lust for fighting in their 
blood, did not, while being formed, realize the 
absolute necessity of unending drill and in- 
spection. Their first cry was, "Give us a 
rifle, a bayonet, and a bomb, show us how to 
use them, and we will do the rest." Acting 
upon this idea, they flung themselves into bat- 
tle, disregarding the iron rules of a preliminary 
training. At first their very impetus and cour- 
age carried them over incredible obstacles. 
But after a time, and as their best were killed 
off, the original blaze died down, and the steady 
flame of ingrained discipline was not there 
to take the place of burning enthusiasm. The 
terrible waste and useless sacrifice that ensued 
showed only too plainly that even the great- 
est individual bravery is not enough. 

In this modern warfare there are many trials 
and experiences unimagined before, which 
wear down the actual will-power of the men 
who undergo them. When troops are forced 

125 



Life in a Tank 

to sit in a trench under the most terrific shell- 
fire, the nerve-racking noise, the sight of their 
comrades and their defences being blown to 
atoms, and the constant fear that they them- 
selves will be the next to go, all deprive the 
ordinary mind of vital initiative. Having lost 
the active mental powers that a human being 
possesses, they are reduced to the level of ma- 
chines. The officers and non-commissioned 
officers, on whom the responsibility of leader- 
ship rests, have that spur to maintain their 
equilibrium, but the private soldiers, who have 
themselves only to think of, are the most open 
to this devastating influence. If these machines 
are to be controlled, as they must be, by an 
exterior intelligence, they must obey automati- 
cally, and if in the past automatic obedience 
has not been implanted, there is nothing to take 
its place. 

The only means by which to obtain inherent 
response to a given order is so to train a man 
in minute details, by constant, inflexible insist- 
ence on perfection, that it becomes part of his 
being to obey without thinking. 

126 



Rest and Discipline 

It must not be presumed that, in obtaining 
this almost inhuman reaction, all independent 
qualities are obliterated. For, though a man's 
mind is adjusted to carrying out, without ques- 
tioning, any task that is demanded of him, yet 
in the execution of this duty he is allowed the 
full scope of his invention and initiative. 

Thus, by this dull and unending routine, we 
laid the foundation of that inevitable success 
toward which we were slowly working. 

When the Company dismissed, the Major, 
Talbot, and the Old Bird walked over to lunch 
together. 

"Well, it's a great war, isn't it?" said the 
Major, turning to the other two. 

"It's very nice to have got through a couple 
of shows, sir," replied Talbot. "What do you 
think about it, Old Bird?" 

"Well, of course, war is all very well for 
those who like it. But give me the Base every 
time," answered the Old Bird, true to his rep- 
utation. Then, turning to the Major with his 
most ingratiating smile, he said, "By the way, 
sir, what about a few days in Boulogne?" 



IX 

A PHILOSOPHY OF WAR 

It has often been observed that if this war is 
to end war for all time, and if all the sacrifices 
and misery and suffering will help to prevent 
any recurrence of them, then it is well worth 
while. 

In these days of immediate demands and 
quick results, this question is too vague and 
too far-reaching to bring instant consolation. 
Apart from that, too, it cannot decide whether 
any war, however great, can ever abolish the 
natural and primitive fighting instinct in man. 

The source from which we must draw the 
justification for our optimism lies much nearer 
to hand. We must regard the effect that war- 
ring life has already produced upon each indi- 
vidual member of the nations who are and who 
are not engaged in it. 

At the very heart of it is the effect on the 
man who is actually fighting. Take the case 

128 



A Philosophy of War 

of him who before the war was either working 
in a factory, who was a clerk in a business 
house, or who was nothing at all beyond the 
veriest loafer and bar-lounger. To begin with, 
he was perhaps purely selfish. The foundation 
of his normal life was self-protection. Whether 
worthless or worthy, whether hating or re- 
specting his superiors, the private gain and 
comfort for himself and his was the object of 
his existence. He becomes a soldier, and that 
act alone is a conversion. His wife and chil- 
dren are cared for, it is true; but he himself, for 
a shilling a day, sells to his country his life, his 
health, his pleasures, and his hopes for the 
future. To make good measure he throws in 
cheerfulness, devotion, philosophy, humour, 
and an unfailing kindness. One man, for in- 
stance, sells up three grocery businesses in the 
heart of Lancashire, an ambition which it has 
taken him ten years to accomplish. Without 
a trace of bitterness he divorces himself from 
the routine of a lifetime, and goes out to France 
to begin life again at the very bottom of a new 
ladder. He who for years had many men under 
129 



Life in a Tank 

him is now under all, and receives, unquestion- 
ingly, orders which in a different sphere he had 
been accustomed to give. Apart from the mere 
letter of obedience and discipline he gains a 
spirit of devotion and self-sacrifice, which turns 
the bare military instrument into a divine 
virtue. He may, for instance, take up the duties 
of an officer's servant. Immediately he throws 
himself whole-heartedly into a new form of 
selfless generosity, which leads him to a thou- 
sand ways of care and forethought, that even 
the tenderest woman could hardly conceive. 
The man who receives this unwavering devo- 
tion can only accept it with the knowledge that 
no one can deserve it, and that it is greater gain 
to him who gives than to him who takes. 

What life of peace is there that produces this 
god-like fibre in the plainest of men ? Why, in- 
deed, is it produced in the life of war? It is 
because in war sordidness and petty worries are 
eliminated; because the one great and ever- 
present fear, the fear of death, reduces all other 
considerations to their proper values. The ac- 
tual fear of death is always present, but this 

130 



A Philosophy of War 

fear itself cannot be sordid when men can 
meet it of their own free will and with the most 
total absence of cringing or of cowardice. 

In commercial rivalry a man will sacrifice 
the friend of years to gain a given sum, which 
will insure him increased material comforts. 
In war a man will deliberately sacrifice the life 
for which he wanted those comforts, to save 
perhaps a couple of men who have no claim on 
him whatsoever. He who before feared any 
household calamity now throws himself upon 
a live bomb, which, even though he might es- 
cape himself, will without his action kill other 
men who are near it. This deed loses none of 
its value because of the general belief among 
soldiers that life is cheap. Other men's lives 
are cheap. One's own life is always very dear. 

One of the most precious results has been the 
resurrection of the quality of admiration. The 
man who before the war said, "Why is he my 
master?" is now only too glad to accept a 
leader who is a leader indeed. He has learned 
that as his leader cannot do without him, so 
he cannot do without his leader, and although 

131 



Life in a Tank 

each is of equal importance in the scheme of 
affairs, their positions in the scheme are differ- 
ent. He has learned that there is a higher 
equality than the equality of class: it is the 
equality of spirit. 

This same feeling is reflected, more especially 
among the leaders of the men, in the complete 
disappearance of snobbishness. No such arti- 
ficial imposition can survive in a life where 
inherent value automatically finds its level; 
where a disguise which in peace-time passed as 
superiority, now disintegrates when in contact 
with this life of essentials. For war is, above all, 
a reduction to essentials. It is the touchstone 
which proves the qualities of our youth's train- 
ing. All those pleasures that formed the gamut 
of a young man's life either fall away com- 
pletely or find their proper place. Sport, games, 
the open-air life, have taught him that high 
cheerfulness, through failure or success, which 
makes endurance possible. But the compli- 
cated, artificial pleasures of ordinary times 
have receded into a dim, unspoken background. 
The wholesomeness of the existence that he 
132 



A Philosophy of War 

now leads has taught him to delight in the 
most simple and natural of things. This throw- 
ing aside of the perversions and fripperies of 
an over-civilization has forced him to regard 
them with a disgust that can never allow him 
to be tempted again by their inducements of 
delight and dissipation. The natural, healthy 
desires which a man is sometimes inclined to 
indulge in are no longer veiled under a mask 
of hypocrisy. They are treated in a perfectly 
outspoken fashion as the necessary accompani- 
ments to a hard, open-air life, where a man's 
vitality is at its best. In consequence of this, 
and as the result of the deepening of man's 
character which war inevitably produces, the 
sense of adventure and mystery which accom- 
panied the fulfilment of these desires has dis- 
appeared, and with it to a great extent the 
desires themselves have assumed a far less 
importance. 

In peace, and especially in war, the young 
man's creed is casualness. Not the casualness 
of carelessness, but that which comes from the 
knowledge that up to each given point he has 

133 



Life in a Tank 

done his best. It is this fundamental peace of 
mind which comes to a soldier that forms the 
beauty of his life. The order received must be 
obeyed in its exact degree, neither more nor 
less; and the responsibility, though great, is 
clearly defined. Each man must use his indi- 
vidual intelligence within the scope of the part 
assigned to him. The responsibility differs in 
kind, but not in degree, and the last link of the 
chain is as important as the first. There can 
be no shirking or shifting, and, knowing this, 
each task is finished, rounded out, and put 
away. One might think that this made thought 
mechanical : but it is mechanical only in so far 
as each man's intelligence is concentrated on 
his own particular duty, and each part work- 
ing in perfect order contributes to the unison 
through which the whole machine develops its 
power. Thus the military life induces in men 
a clearer and more accurate habit of thought, 
and teaches each one to do his work well and 
above all to do his own work only. 

From this very simplicity of life, which brings 
out a calmness of mind and that equable tem- 
134 



A Philosophy of War 

perament that minor worries can no longer 
shake, springs the mental leisure which gives 
time for other and unaccustomed ideas. Men 
who wittingly, time and again, have faced but es- 
caped death, will inevitably begin to think what 
death may mean. As the first lessons of obedi- 
ence teach each man that he needs a leader to 
pass through a certain crisis, so the crisis of 
death, where man must pass alone, demands a 
still higher Leader. With the admission that 
no man is self-sufficient, that sin of pride, 
which is the strongest barrier between a man 
and his God, falls away. He is forced, if only 
in self-defence, to recognize that faith in some 
all-sufficient Power is the only thing that will 
carry him through. If he could cut away the 
thousand sins of thought, man would automati- 
cally find himself at faith. It is the central 
but often hidden point of our intelligence; 
and although there are a hundred roads that 
lead to it, they may be completely blocked. 
The clean flame of the disciplined life burns 
away the rubbish that chokes these roads, and 
faith becomes a nearer and more constant thing. 

135 



Life in a Tank 

The sadness of war lies in the loss of actual 
personalities, but it is only by means of these 
losses that this surrender can be attained. 

It must not be thought that faith comes over- 
night as a free gift. It is a long and slow process 
of many difficult steps. There may be first the 
actual literal crumbling, unknown in peace- 
time, of one's solid surroundings, to be repeated 
perhaps again and again until the old habit of 
reliance upon them is uprooted. Then comes the 
realization that this life at the front has but 
two possible endings. The first is to be so dis- 
abled that a man's fighting days are over. The 
other is death. Instant death rather than a slow 
death from wounds. Every man hopes for a 
wound which will send him home to England. 
That, however, is only a respite, as his return 
to France follows upon his convalescence. The 
other most important step is the loss of one's 
friends. It is not the fact of actually seeing them 
killed, for in the chaos and tumult of a battle 
the mind hardly registers such impressions. 
One's only feeling is the purely primitive one of 
relief, that it is another and not one's self. It 

136 



A Philosophy of War 

is only afterwards, when the excitement is over, 
and a man realizes that again there is a space 
of life, for him, but not for his friend, that the 
loneliness and the loss are felt. He then says to 
himself, r "Why am I spared when many better 
men have gone?" At first resentment swallows 
up all other emotions. In time, when this bit- 
terness begins to pass, the belief that somehow 
this loss is of some avail, carries him a little 
farther on the road to faith. This all comes to 
the man who before the war believed that the 
world was made for InY pleasure, and who 
treated life from that standpoint. All that he 
wanted he took without asking. Now, all that 
he has he gives without being asked. 
I Woman, too, gives more than herself. She 
gives her men, her peace of mind and all that 
makes her life worth living. The man after all 
may have little hope, but while he is alive he 
has the daily pleasures of health, vitality, ex- 
citement, and a thousand interests. A woman 
has but a choice of sorrows: the sorrow of un- 
bearable suspense or the acceptance of the end. 
Yet it needed this war to show again to 
137 



Life in a Tank 

women what they could best do in life : to love 
their men, bear their children, care for the sick 
and suffering, and learn to endure. It has taught 
them also to accept from man what he is able 
or willing to give, and to admit a higher claim 
than their own. They have been forced to put 
aside the demands and exactions which they 
felt before were their right, and to accept lone- 
liness and loss without murmur or question. 

A woman who loses her son loses the su- 
preme reason of her existence; and yet the day 
after the news has come, she goes back to her 
work for the sons of other women. If she has 
more sons to give she gives them, and faces 
again the eternal suspense that she has lived 
through before. The younger women, who in 
times of peace would have looked forward to an 
advantageous and comfortable marriage, will 
now marry men whom they may never see 
again after the ten days' honeymoon is over, 
and will unselfishly face the very real possi- 
bility of widowhood and lonely motherhood. 
They have had to learn the old lesson that 
work for others is the only cure for sorrow, and 

138 



A Philosophy of War 

they have learned too that it is the only cure 
for all those petty worries and boredoms which 
assailed them in times of peace. If they have 
learned this, then again one may say that war 
is worth while. 

What effect has the war had upon those coun- 
tries who in the beginning were not engaged in 
it? The United States, for instance, has for 
three years been an onlooker. The people of 
that country have had every opportunity to 
view, in their proper perspectives, the feelings 
and changes brought about among the men and 
women of the combatant countries. At first, 
the enormous casualties, the sufferings and the 
sorrow, led them to believe that nothing was 
worth the price they would have to pay, were 
they to enter into the lists. For in the begin- 
ning, before that wonderful philosophy of spirit 
and cheerfulness of outlook arose, and before 
the far-reaching effects of the sacrifice of loved 
ones could be perceived, there seemed to be 
little reason or right for such a train of deso- 
lation. They were perfectly justified, too, in 
thinking this, when insufficient time had elapsed 
139 



Life in a Tank 

to enable them to judge of the immense, sweep- 
ing, beneficial effects that this struggle has pro- 
duced in the moral fibre and stamina of the 
nations engaged. 

It must be remembered that the horrors of 
the imagination are far worse than the reali- 
ties. The men who fight and the women who 
tend their wounds suffer mentally far less than 
those who paint the pictures in their minds, 
from data which so very often are grossly exag- 
gerated. One must realize that the hardships 
of war are merely transient. Men suffer untold 
discomforts, and yet, when these sufferings 
are over and mind and body are at ease for a 
while, they are completely forgotten. The only 
mark they leave is the disinclination to un- 
dergo them again. But on those who do not 
realize them in their actuality, they cause a far 
more terrifying effect. 

Now, others, as well, have discovered that 
war's advantages outweigh so much its losses. 
They who with their own eyes had seen the 
wonderful fortitude with which men stand 
pain, and the amazing submission with which 

140 



A Philosophy of War 

women bear sorrow, returned full of zeal and 
enthusiasm, to carry the torch of this uplifting 
flame to their own countrymen. 

Others will realize, too, that although one 
may lose one's best, yet one's worst is made bet- 
ter. The women will find that the characters 
of their men will become softened. The clear-cut 
essentials of a life of war must make the mind 
of man direct. It may be brutal in its simplic- 
ity, but it is clear and frank. Yet to counteract 
this, the continual sight of suffering bravely 
borne, the deep love and humility that the de- 
votion of others unconsciously produces, bring 
about this charity of feeling, this desire to for- 
give and this moderation in criticism, which is 
so marked in those who have passed through 
the strenuous, searing realities of war. Since 
the thirty pieces of silver, no minted coin in the 
world has bought so much as has the King's 
shilling of to-day. 



THE END 



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